A Magic Kaito Crossover Grab Bag
by Shotaphile
Summary: MK Crossovers. Kaito centric. One new series each day. For the entire month of February. Er, hopefully.
1. Alex Rider Series

**Series:** Alex Rider

**Pairings: **A little bit of Alex/Kaito and Hakuba/Kaito, in the way that KID loves his innuendo and veiled flirting.

**Warnings: **Is it wrong to blame a recent natural disaster on SCORPIA? They had planned to stage a tsunami anyway. KID. In drag again. For the whole story. C4. Ambiguous plot points.

**A/N: **The first of what will hopefully be a full month of Magic Kaito crossover oneshots. A friend suggested that the black organization _could be _SCORPIA, and I ran with it. Set two years after Crocodile tears but pretending that M16 would actually give Alex more than a week at a time off, let alone two years. But it was the only way he was waltzing straight into the lion's den. Line about the scorpion stinging itself taken from the pilot of Macguyver. So. Who out there's read Alex Rider anyway?

* * *

**A Common Enemy**

* * *

It was more than a little unnerving, Alex thought as he casually sipped from a flute of pink, disgustingly sweet champagne and smiled obligingly at the punch line to a presumably humorous anecdote that he hadn't actually bothered to listened to all that closely, strolling back into the scorpion's nest with only a bit of red hair dye and a dusting of painted on freckles across his nose and cheeks, the faintest Irish color to his vowels and a semi-modest two year retirement from a life of espionage to – hopefully – make any memory of him and his work vague and blurry to those that might still wish him dead.

He hadn't been dragged off to a dark corner and quietly garroted yet in any case, so he was already doing quite well by all accounts. Though he had yet to manage anything more devious than evade the amorous advances of an heiress from Brigby with forearms as thick as his neck and a shiny mouth of metal that looked particularly menacing whenever she smiled at him from across the room.

"_They're pooling an awful lot of their resources into Japan as of late and we want to know why."_ Mrs. Jones had explained, sucking on her ever present peppermint candy and Alan Blunt blessedly absent from the meeting. _"There's a Haiti earthquake charity ball being held in Tokyo by a Chris Vineyard later this week, who we have reason to believe holds a relatively influential place in the organization – yes."_ She'd interjected briskly when Alex made a motion to say something smart concerning irony and perhaps also involving the word 'hypocrite'. _"We find the idea as preposterous as you no doubt do, but Miss Vineyard is an actress of veritable esteem among high society and as such has a certain type of image to uphold. We've confirmed that at least half of the current administrative board will be present at that party and so we want you there as well, Alex."_

Alex beat a hasty tempo across her desk with his fingernails. _"I don't speak Japanese."_ He'd reminded her, unnecessarily. Remarking that he'd quit already would have proven far more superfluous, so he hadn't bothered. He had learned a little something about futility during his time with MI6, if nothing else.

"_And we don't expect you to."_ She'd said agreeably enough as she unwrapped another peppermint. _"The party is being held in Japan, but some people can prove to be a tad particular concerning raw fish so all of the food is being flown in. And all of the guests as well." _Her lips had twisted upward in a rare show of humor. _"I believe that the most exotic person you are likely to come across there is a gentleman who was born originally in Camden Town."_

Excusing himself discreetly and relinquishing his still half full glass to the platter of a passing server, Alex maneuvered his way through the guests in a charmingly vague manner – polite enough not to catch anyone's ire but dull enough not to catch their interest either – and disappeared up the carpeted stairs to the back of the building before anyone would even think to question him as to his motives.

Alex climbed two flights without stopping and skirted past a half a dozen unlocked doors on the next level before stopping to kneel at the keyhole of one partially hidden by a curtain in a recess in the wall. He moved to unscrew a piece from his watch that held a needle thin dropper of Smither's own metal corrosive to eat through the lock when the soft squeal of hinges _distinctly_ near prompted him to glance up rather quickly not at the elegant mahogany door that he'd been expecting but a soft, white chiffon skirt. A skirt that belonged to a young, faintly amused looking girl who was carefully tucking a hairpin back into her expertly done up-do before offering him a hand gloved in equally immaculate white silk. He hesitated only the briefest moment before taking it. If he was going to die as a sneak, after all, he'd much rather not do so on his knees.

"Let me guess." She said as he brushed the wrinkles out of his trousers, voice pretty and clear, like bells, and that Cheshire smile that never left her face. "You're looking for the bathroom? Well good." She continued, hardly allowing him a moment to draw a breath, let alone answer, relinquishing her grip on his hand only to hook her arm through his and pull him to her hip in an overly familiar manner. "So am I. Shall we find it together?" Again, not waiting for an answer, she tugged him back into the room she had just come from. "Were you hoping to melt the lock?" She asked, kicking the door shut behind them with a rather perilous looking heel. "Only it's just about as obvious as leaving behind a calling card and, if you're going to leave behind something _like_ a calling card anyway why not just stick with the card, I figure."

Alex looked down dazedly at the watch mechanism still clutched in one hand before hastening to replace it. "I had planned to." He admitted after a moment, seeing no real point in refuting the matter at this point. "Of course, I hadn't planned on being abducted by a completely barmy girl either, so you can see how well my plans seem to have panned out so far."

"As plans so often do." She agreed, hardly seeming to take offense at the inference as to her sanity or lack thereof, leading him over to an already open safe set on the floor in the middle of the otherwise empty room and crouching down to hand him several generic looking packages before taking two for herself. "_I _was planning on dragging my date away from where he was no doubt exchanging veiled, semi-threatening barbs with our esteemed host to help me crate these out, but I figure that you'll do well enough in a pinch." She finished with an over exaggerated wink in his direction, plucking at his elbow once more to navigate the two of them back out, and pausing only to shut and lock the door (with that hairpin of hers making its reappearance) behind them.

He quietly watched her slot the pin back into place, shifting the boxes into a more manageable position in his arms and tried to figure out whether he'd seen her face before in the sea of people below. There was something distinctly feline about her features and it wasn't just in the light, padding steps she took across the hallway – beckoning him to follow with a coy little finger wave – or the way she titled her head to the left to listen at a doorjamb before uncovering a smaller, more modest set of stairs that were likely there for the hired help. It was only dimly lit but he managed to keep close behind her, trailing after the faint red glow of her jeweled white lace choker necklace, the even fainter yet encompassing, nearly comforting, white ephemeris of her overall ensemble.

Alex felt as if his own steps were almost _lumbering_ in comparison. Perhaps he was simply out of practice, but this girl was practically a ghost. A very corporal ghost, Alex came to realize as she stopped short suddenly and he couldn't help but jostle her a bit, and there was something in the curve of her collarbone and the delicate bones in her wrists as she traced a crudely carved scorpion in the wall to her right with an index finger that struck Alex as…

"I was told there weren't any Japanese on the guest list." He said as she once again took up their little game of follow the leader, wondering idly just how far down she was planning to take them. "Though you speak English well enough that I doubt many would notice without paying particular attention to you, which considering what you're up to now, I sincerely doubt you would have given anyone half the chance."

She paused at the foot of the stairs, mostly swallowed up by the encroaching shadows now but for her necklace and eyes, shining faintly in the dark and so blue they were almost purple. "I was the plus one." She admitted after a moment. "They thought it funny to invite the police commissioner's son to dabble in their affairs and so he thought it funny to bring a thief as his date."

"A thief?" Alex echoed back, the image in his head not reconciling itself terribly well with the one before him.

She was sulking now, cheeks puffed out and eyebrows furrowed, the faintest tinge of pink to her cheeks. She almost seemed embarrassed, though she'd certainly made no secret of the matter. "Not everyone gets approached by special operations after their family dies." She defended, turning to hurry back down the narrow passageway and clearly expecting Alex to follow (he did). "Some of us had to make our own way. And I always return everything I take in the end. Most times. If it survives the transit."

Alex nearly dropped the boxes through suddenly nerveless fingers. "How did you know about—"

"People talk, Alex." She said, slanting him a look as she apparently reached the end of the journey and knelt down to arrange the boxes in a neat little semi circle, graciously taking his from him as well. "Just count yourself lucky that those self same people are all under the impression that you're dead and keep your head down and you just might live to retire for real next time." She pulled a length of wire out of pockets that Alex hadn't been aware those sorts of dresses actually had. And a bit of putty (C4, his mind supplied helpfully).

Dazedly, he watched the strange girl calmly and quite competently construct a bomb. While she gave him a lecture on self preservation, apparently. Alex wondered when his life had gotten quite so surreal.

She seemed to catch something of his incredulity in his expression and smiled up at him reassuringly. Strangely enough, it did work a bit. "I don't normally play around with something so crude – I'm really quite fond of elaborate schemes of sabotage you know." She said as she worked, molding and connecting fuses. "But the Big Bad Base is a bit harder to stick my nose in than, say, an abandoned warehouse or a playhouse running three shows a day all week and four on Sunday, and I simply don't have the time or resources for anything more interesting. Considering the hand they had in the earthquake in the first place I can think of no better time or place to send them all a message. And I have a quadratics test tomorrow besides."

_College or high school_ Alex wanted to ask, but decided it wasn't any of his business, and he more than anyone should understand a little something about privacy. Instead he offered her a hand back up, which she took with a saucy sort of smirk, sliding what he figured for a detonator into a slim white purse that he hadn't noticed on her before. To be fair, he had been a little distracted. "What happens now?" He asked, taking the lead this time as they made their way back up to the party and making a note to inform M16 of SCORPIA's involvement in the Haiti disaster. It would be nice to bring something back to them, at least, rather than just the champagne tasting god awful.

"Have you ever seen a scorpion sting itself to death?" She said with a wicked little smile.

He glimpsed her a little later that evening, on the arm of a boy a bit taller than her and dressed rather fussily in tweed, who kept touching her elbow and leaning in to whisper her in her ear in a way that was an awful lot less sneaky than he likely thought it was. For her part she simply smiled dotingly at him and patted his cheek and led him toward the door in much the same way Alex himself had been led about earlier that night. Like a sheep to slaughter. Lemmings, off a cliff. Alex, stupidly, to secrets.

Her eyes caught his for the briefest moment and she smiled at him, brought a finger up to her lips in a shushing motion and let him witness the other hand creep meaningfully into her purse.

Alex made hastily for the exit, endeavoring to make it look like he _wasn't_ fleeing from a bomb.

The party ended much earlier that night than anyone had expected it to. He didn't spot her or her friend (or whatever he was, Alex didn't really care to contemplate) outside in the ensuing chaos and, deciding she rather had the right idea, quickly made himself scarce as well.

He found the calling card in his coat pocket eight hours later, having spent most of that time explaining to MI6 that, no, he hadn't been the one responsible for the explosion, hadn't even known what was in those boxes that he'd been heavy handed – in an entirely nonviolent, simply extremely overbearing sort of way – into moving, and though he still hadn't the faintest idea what SCORPIA was doing in Japan he rather thought whoever it was they were doing it to had the matter well in hand.

It was blank except for the tiny cartoon scrawl of a grinning man in a top hat and monocle in the bottom right hand corner. And a name beneath it:

--Kaito KID


	2. Danny Phantom

**Series:** Danny Phantom

**Pairings:** None. Vlad doesn't even leer at Maddie it's that gen.

**Warnings:** Kaito charming the entire populous of Amity Park, an exchange program that honestly isn't all that likely for him to sign himself up for but, meh, gotta get him to Japan somehow, right? Fun with kanji spellings. Vlad popping up out of freaking nowhere, but then, _he does that_.

**A/N:** ...I don't even know, I just sat down and started typing. Poor Kaito, he's got enough problems back home and now he has Vlad interested in him. Bit like poking the sleeping tiger with a great big stick, though, no one ever did accuse Kaito of having very good survival instincts. But, come on, who doesn't enjoy the dorktastic goodness of Danny Phantom? And, yes, most of my other crossovers will continue to be this obscure.

* * *

**Danny Phantom Thief 1412**

* * *

"Phantom!" Danny's dad suddenly bellowed, and Danny startled so heavily that he nearly dropped the glass of water he'd brought in from the kitchen for their guest. Kaito, for his part, hadn't dived for cover behind the living room sofa or ran screaming out the door, and that was an awful lot further than most of the Fenton's visitors tended to make it. Smiling apologetically and handing the glass off to the other boy and getting a small head nod and a smile back (the Japanese, Danny was quickly learning through extended exposure with the exchange student, bowed for just about _everything_, and it had gotten to the point where Danny found himself mimicking the motion out of sheer familiarity) Danny figured Kaito must have something like nerves of steel.

Because even after fourteen years of living in the same house with the man, when Jack Fenton got that particular glimmer in his eye, that specific pitch and audible to his tone, Danny usually found some reason to be as far away from the man as humanly – or, for that matter, ghostly – possible.

Kaito took a sip of water and spoke clearly, calmly, almost soothingly. He knew how to speak to Danny's dad without speaking _down_ to him, which Danny appreciated dearly. Jazz had even pulled away the Japanese boy to discuss the merits and pitfalls of interpersonal communication more than once. "Not that sort of phantom, Mr. Fenton." He said, casting his gaze upward toward the ceiling for the moment, likely searching for the right English words to get his point across, though he never had to search for long; it was a bit embarrassing that Danny was nearly failing Spanish, in comparison. "In Japanese, the term 'kaitou' means phantom thief. It's a specific sort of thief that constantly evades capture and can disappear into the night just like a phantom, you see?"

Jack didn't. Not really. But he nodded his head anyway, mind already a hundred miles away, likely imagining his own triumphant capture of Danny Phantom.

Danny shuddered like someone had just walked across his grave. It was a close enough approximation, in any case. He frowned as he actually caught up with Kaito's explanation. "'Kaito'?" He echoed. "Like your name?"

"Not quite." Kaito winced and then followed up the expression with another bright, flitting smile. He smiled so easily, all the time; at mom's failed attempts to fix a dinner that didn't try to eat them instead, at dad's over exuberant tour of the lab that would have very likely ended with Kaito in the hospital had he not proven himself particularly skilled at getting out of tight spots that afternoon, at Jazz's rants about psychology and Sam's about the mistreatment of animals, or Tucker's insistence that everyone call his newest PDA by name… even at Dash's early attempts at establishing a social hierarchy with the new kid 'with funny looking eyes' before discovering that the exchange student didn't intimidate and was generally popular with the entire school despite spending what anyone else would have described as an irredeemable amount of time with Danny and his friends, but for Kaito seemed more like a regretful life choice that everyone was more or less willing to ignore (the first time Kwan greeted Kaito with a high five Danny sent himself tee-tolling into Sam's open locker out of shock and had to go sit in the nurse's office with a bloody nose until school was out and Kaito showed up at the door to walk him home). "They're spelled different. It's complicated." He offered uncertainly, but it was clear by his tone of voice that he didn't really want to talk about it further, so Danny let it go.

Danny understood all about names being complicated (and also maybe just a little bit obvious, but it was like hiding in plain sight, wasn't it?) at least.

Jack was fidgeting beside Kaito on the couch. Clearly this topic of conversation was quickly beginning to bore him. "So!" He said, patting Kaito on the back hard enough to nearly send him tumbling face first over the coffee table and – if the hacking, gurgling cough was any sort of indication – cause him choke on his more recent sip of water. Jack, predictably, didn't notice a thing. "Kaito m'boy! Ever seen a ghost before?"

"No, but I went to school with a witch."

Danny laughed nervously at the joke that hadn't actually sounded all that much like a joke and Kaito gave him a blank look that quickly sent Danny's laughter spiraling more towards hysteric than amused.

"I do believe that they prefer to be called Wiccan, my dear boy." Vlad said from the open door that Jack had forgotten to close _again_, and as he casually waltzed inside without any kind of invitation Danny sorely wished he was still holding Kaito's water so he could 'accidentally' spill it all over his no doubt costly three piece suit.

"She didn't." Kaito said shortly, and then said nothing else at all, clearly done with that topic of conversation.

"Vlad Masters." He said, holding his hand out and looking far too pleased with himself. "I'm a friend of the family's. And you must be that exchange student I've been hearing so much about. It's nice to finally get a chance to meet you."

Kaito stared quietly at Vlad's hand for a moment, making no move to take it, and as the silence began to stretch on uncomfortably Vlad eventually brought the hand back down to his side.

He looked a bit thrown, but he made a commendable effort not to let it show. "Ah yes, the cultural divide, I suppose. Not big on shaking hands over there, are they?" He said, quailing ever so slightly beneath Kaito's thousand yard stare. Danny had never before seen him at such a loss, except for maybe that mess with the weather but even then Vlad had eventually gotten back at him for everything. It was a nice change. He contemplated asking Kaito to stay forever.

Another half beat and then there was Kaito's unwavering smile, as if it had never even left his face, his voice taking on that saccharine sweet tone that he used with Danny's parents half the time but without that lingering genuine note of fond exasperation that guaranteed that Danny never felt too deathly embarrassed by all of his parent's antics, because it was clearly obvious that Kaito was enjoying them anyway. "We're _awful_ big on false sincerity though, Mr. Masters." He explained, standing and inclining his head slightly as if to prove his point. His teeth flashed, white and sharp as his smile grew wider, and Danny was suddenly put to mind of a predator, swooping in for the kill. "You'd fit in very well there." And he swept past Vlad and up the stairs without a backward glance or another word.

Danny had the intense and unexpected pleasure of watching the realization of Kaito's slight dawn slowly across Vlad's face.

Jack, blessedly clueless, smiled fondly up after the boy. "He's a good kid." He told his old college friend happily. "His name means phantom. Kooky, ain't it?"

Vlad's sharp gaze slid indeterminably to rest on Danny, who fought to keep his face blank beneath the scrutiny. Silently, Danny cursed his dad's inability to focus on a conversation long enough to gather anything from it other than a strange, abortive game of Chinese Whispers with the rest of the world. "Kooky…?" Vlad repeated sharply, expression calculating. "Yes. Quite."

_Crap_. Danny thought, and quietly resigned himself to playing Kaito's bodyguard for the rest of his stay.

Upstairs, Kaito was busy contemplating much the same for Danny.


	3. Keys to the Kingdom

**Series:** Keys to the Kingdom

**Pairings:** I know some people like to pair Suzy and Arthur but I honestly like the two of them well enough just as friends, so... er. None.

**Warnings:** Allusions to - well deserved - mutilation (well, maybe not on the Old One's behalf, the jury's still out on that one). A bit of sword fighting without actual swords being present on either side. And, eh, KID knowing things he very probably shouldn't. Again.

**A/N:** Fairly early on in the series, the Monday book during Suzy and Arthur's escape from the pit via the improbable stairs. Specifically, immediately following the trip into Suzy's past. The Omake that follows is, well, I did say I couldn't resist the monocle thing, didn't I? And, okay, so this series comes from the junior readers section, but since when have I ever let a silly thing like a suggested age range stop me from reading anything - and who else out there is waiting anxiously for Sunday to come out? Hands?

* * *

**An Improbable Detour**

* * *

Arthur came off of the improbable stairs again at a run.

A white gloved hand struck out from the darkness to Arthur's left like quicksilver, snagging him round the back collar of his borrowed coat and arresting his and Suzy's brisk pace with a suddenness that left him gasping for air despite the first key's ever strengthening presence in his right hand. He whipped around in a blind panic, left hand still gripping Suzy's tight and swung the key in a wild manner at where he predicted their attacker's face to be, certain that it was Noon, come to take the key back from him by force, since sending him to the Pit like a misbehaving child on timeout made to think about what he'd done had so obviously failed.

Even for the Old One, eyes took several hours to grow back, and Arthur needed only minutes to find them a new set of steps to escape. Perhaps if he was lucky he could even manage to sever that awful man's silver tongue while he was at it.

His back molars _ached_ with the ringing vibration of metal on metal but even as he drew back his arm to strike again his eyes began to adjust to the dark and he noticed two rather immediate things about his adversary; he was shorter than Noon and, indeed, most of the denizens of any real rank that Arthur had yet to come upon in the House, just a bit taller than Arthur himself, and he was wielding, not Noon's fiery sword, but rather a strange, bulky looking gun, eyeing him warily over the barrel with astonishing violet eyes, one half obscured by the gleam of an old fashioned monocle.

"Easy kid." He hissed, lowering the gun just enough to reveal a boy about Michaeli's age or younger, though not so much that if Arthur decided to slice at him again he couldn't bring it back up in time to deflect the blow. His eyes flickered over to Suzy – who was clinging, wan and tragic, to Arthur's hand, mind still a hundred, perhaps even a thousand years away – and then back to Arthur. "You might have wings but I doubt either of you is in any real shape to use them, and five paces further would have sent you both plummeting over the edge of the roof." He spoke with a faint, unfamiliar accent, and barely above a whisper.

Straining to listen to his surroundings while he confirmed that they were, indeed, only half a dozen feet from the edge of a precipice, Arthur could hear faint shouting and the heavy tramping of many feet several floors down. And the distant wail of a police siren. He squeezed Suzy's hand firmly as her eyes began to clear, an equal part _welcome back_ as it was _keep alert_.

She stiffened like a soldier at attention, narrowing a suspicious, unfriendly look the mystery boy's way and squeezing Arthur's hand back in response. "Who're you?" She spat as the shouting grew steadily closer, close enough for Arthur to realize that the words that he could discern weren't any language that he was familiar with – something Asian perhaps – though their would be savior had clearly been speaking English.

From the way the boy was tilting his head, eyes half slit in concentration, he seemed to understand the shouts well enough, and they put him on edge. He flashed what Arthur considered was probably quite a charming smile under the right circumstances, though now it only made him seem cornered and desperate. "Soon to be nothing more than a flitting shadow across the moon, I hope, though I suppose I should probably set the two of you right on the Improbable Stairs first." Keeping his grip on Arthur's collar loose, yet firm, he led the two of them to a whitewash wall on the opposite side of the stairs leading down from the roof before finally releasing him. "I expect that you've got more important things to do than stand around explaining to the fine men and women of the Tokyo Metropolitan police force – and Hakuba, for that matter – just what you were doing in the middle of a KID heist, and while they're certainly all _good people_ they can get a bit overenthusiastic sometimes."

"How did you know about the…" Arthur started, pulling the key back up to cross defensively over his chest.

"-the stairs?" The boy arched an eyebrow artfully beneath the brim of a white top hat, running his gloved fingers contemplatively across the mechanisms of his strange gun, adjusting something with a casual flick of his thumb. "Would you rather I answered that, or got you back on your way before you wind up stuck here for good?"

Suzy crowed suddenly in triumph, one grubby finger jabbing at the boy's chest and leaving behind a startling black smear across an otherwise pristine white tuxedo. "You're a _thief_." She declared, undeniably pleased with her deduction.

The steady pace of running feet was suddenly interrupted by a faint _twang_ and the hiss of escaping gas, followed by a scattered, irregular series of thuds.

"I prefer _artist_." The boy stressed, pulling a face at Suzy's blunt accusation but otherwise doing nothing to refute it. "Hakuba's not likely to have let the sleeping gas stop him, so we'll have to be quick about it – step back please." He said, and then fired his gun four times in quick succession.

Arthur was startled to find that the gun fired cards rather than bullets, and even more so when they managed to imbed quite deep into what he figured was either a concrete or stone wall, in the unmistakable shape of a set of stairs. On the other side of the small square building the heavy metal fire escape door slammed open with a sharp report, and the boy gestured toward the wall with a flourish, albeit one tinged with a sense of urgency. "Go on then." He urged, smiling in a kinder fashion than Arthur had ever expected a self-professed criminal to be able. "I'll deal with the picky pain." He added with a wink, before disappearing around the corner, white cape flapping behind him like a farewell.

Arthur took a deep breath and plunged on.

_An Omake of sorts (because Friday's Noon wore a monocle and I am very amused)_

Arthur gestured at the Experiencing Noon and frowned. "Does he remind you of anyone Suzy?" He asked.

An immeasurable distance away (as no one had ever taken it into their head to calculate the number of miles – nor the ever popular kilometer, or the slightly less popular parsang – inherent in a transdimensional leaps, particularly one between secondary realms, and likely never would) in Ekoda Japan, Earth, Kuroba Kaito sneezed.

It was a Friday.


	4. Artemis Fowl

**Series:** Artemis Fowl

**Pairings:** Ugh. No. Not even contemplating it. Just--no. NOT GOING THERE.

**Warnings:** Kid, being inappropriate again. That should probably just be inferred by this point.

**A/N: **Really really strange style for this one, I apologize now if it's no good, but something about midnight meetings between criminals... I'm a huge fan of Artemis Fowl, have been since middle school 3 Already preordered the newest one, coming out in July~ I like the idea of these two boy genius criminals having what are, in effect, play dates, even though I'm almost certain Kaito probably drives Artemis crazy half the time, and not in a fun way. And maybe it's just me but Butler as of late really strikes me as a character that would be kind of fond of Kid and his determined childishness. At least, in contrast to Artemis himself.

* * *

**A Company of Thieves**

* * *

Artemis was sitting comfortably in the dark when he arrived, clinging to the window ledge like he had suction cups attached to his hands and feet – he didn't, this time, he wasn't so young as all that anymore – curtains billowing around him in a suitably dramatic fashion (one that he'd waited nearly eight minutes for just the right sort of wind to fabricate, but then, if you couldn't make a good entrance in this business than what use were you, really?). They held each other's gaze silently for a moment, neither one making any move; an impasse, if you were, without the use of any weapons, unnecessary and messy in such a meeting of the minds. Their intellects were their daggers, sharp and polished and never entirely sheathed.

In a parlay, it would be difficult to predict which one would walk away with the first blood, because neither had ever even contemplated attempting something so foolish. They traded blows like a well-rehearsed dance but always pulled back just before contact was made; both had the ability to irredeemably cripple, and it was in this shared knowledge of such that each found a respect for the other that seemed to transcend any real need to do battle at all.

That never entirely stopped either from the posturing, of course.

A body detached itself from the shadows to the left of the window – a man, nay, a mountain, nay, a _Butler_ – and proffered Interpol's designated international thief 1412 a hand down from the high set frame which was, as always, ignored. Rather, the white clad thief deigned to use the manservant's broad shoulders as a springboard, toes pointed and spine curved and body poised perfectly in a gymnast's dismount, bowing to an imagined audience with the flourish of a born showman.

If anyone else had tried something like that with Butler he would have snapped their neck before their feet had even cleared the window sash. For him, Butler stood immobile, hardly daring to breath, unwilling to disturb the maneuver even the slightest, though he knew well enough that the flashy thief could have managed the feat just as well without Butler there at all.

(But it wasn't what he _could_ do, Butler reasoned, so much as what he _would_ do, and so he played the statue, the prop, every time and wondered, bewilderingly, just what exactly he'd done to earn the boy's trust so completely.)

Kaito Kid was someone that Butler tolerated – not the right word, no, but he was unable, or perhaps unwilling to dwell for long on what _was_ – because Artemis always seemed so amused by the other boy's antics (though he would never – perish the thought – ever admit to such, even under the influence of a Mesmer) and because he always brought a strange sort of youth and energy and rejuvenation to the manor that had been such a foreign concept until the twin's birth two years ago and had, undeniably, suffered ever so slightly with Master Artemis' return. He never asked what sort of home the thief came from; to fall so _completely_ into this lifestyle with such single minded abandon that it sometimes became difficult to remember that he must have a life outside of this, must have something that he was doing all this _for_, because there was never not a reason. Asking was against the rules.

But he could wonder.

Finally, Artemis broke the silence. "You could have done without the power outage." He pointed out, rather uselessly. He said the same thing every night they met, and Kid would always grin, shrug easily and shove his hands in his pockets and say nothing at all. Because it was true, he could, but what would be the fun in that, really? He was an artist. In much the same way Artemis would forge a Rembrandt or a Picasso, perfect down to the last brush stroke, Kid drew a sniper's bead to his heart with a precision that bordered on suicide, and yet, managed to come away – _nearly_ – unscathed every time.

Butler had an uncanny eye for old injuries and was not so easy to fool as the people in the boy's life were. Or perhaps, he simply wasn't so willing to look the other way. It was difficult to believe that someone so brilliant would fail to surround himself with equally brilliant people, but not so difficult to believe in the power of determined obfuscation.

"Or the flash entrance." Artemis added after the usual motions on Kid's part had been thoroughly completed. "No one here is impressed."

The moonlight thief's cape eddied gently about his ankles from a breeze outside but Butler made no move to close the window. The first time he'd done so a look of such pure, unadulterated panic had flashed across the boy's face that Butler had almost felt as if he'd just been assaulted physically. It had been a foolish blunder on his part. He understood well enough the necessity of a quick, easy exit route, but the relative age of Artemis' surprise guest had startled him enough that he hadn't stopped to consider it might apply to him as well.

It was a mistake he'd never make again.

"Practice makes perfect, you know." Kaitou Kid said, examining a loose thread on the hem of one sleeve with a little frown. His English was perfect. As perfect as Artemis' Japanese, and it was difficult to predict which language they would choose each night until they were already exchanging words. One night it had been French, another, Russian. Spanish had been met with a ruffled, mildly offended look on Kid's part and he struggled through half the night before switching rather stubbornly to Korean, of which Artemis knew only so much as Kid had known Spanish and so they finished off the night in Mandarin and rather stoically chose to pretend as if the first two language mishaps had never even happened at all. "It would hardly do for me to simply stroll through the front door at the next heist, would it?"

Artemis could hardly resist the urge to roll his eyes. He settled for steepling his fingers instead. "I know for a fact that you've done just that on at least two separate occasions." He pointed out, and then flinched rather visibly at the expression dawning quickly across his contemporary's face.

"Why Arty," The well dressed thief practically purred in pleasure, canting his body in that strange way he had of intimating flirtation so convincingly that Butler had honestly feared he was being propositioned by a minor the first time the boy had turned his attention on him. It still bothered him a bit, when he let himself think about it. That wasn't the sort of distraction someone his age should be able to don with such ease or familiarity, and half the time it was difficult to tell what he was even attempting to distract from or _why_. "I wasn't aware that you were following my career so… intimately."

Unruffled by the insinuation (or at the very least, pretending to be), Artemis scoffed. "Be thankful I do or you might never have found what you were looking for." He said, holding up a thin sheaf of papers as he did so, meaning clear.

Kaitou Kid stilled, body language melting unwaveringly from tempter to tempted. He looked like the child he was but had hardly ever let himself be. Nervous, unsure, needful. His fingers flexed by his side but he made no move toward Artemis, made no attempt to claim the papers. "You found it?" Was all he said.

Artemis smiled.


	5. Sherlock Holmes

**Series:** Sherlock Holmes (2009)

**Pairings: **Watson/Mary, Holmes/Irene, inferred Hakuba/Kaito?? Oh, you know the parallel is there...

**Warnings:** Akako. That's all the warning I need, right?

**A/N:** So. Relatively new movie, but even if you haven't seen it yet there's no real spoilers in this thing anyway. Was far to enamored with it not to make a crossover though, even if it's something as strange as this. Watson was lovely, yes? And the married couple fights. Made me giggle. Wanted to write something where Hakuba was disenchanted by this version of his crime fighting role model, and maybe include a bit of Kaito fanboying Adler, but none of that really happened. Sometimes stories just refuse to turn out the way I'd intended them to, ah well. Weird concept, but it's not bad, is it?

* * *

**Time to Get a New Role Model**

* * *

"I _told _you it was stupid to say something like that around her, but did you listen to me? No."

"Really now, how was I to know that she'd be capable of something like this?"

"Maybe because I told you she was? I'm not letting you stalk him down and fanboy him like a freak either – and don't you try to deny it, you've got a face like you've just been let loose in a candy store or something. Do you even—"

"I do enjoy a good…"

"Well we're _not._ We're going to find her place here and get her to send us back. It's weird like that, it'll be here."

"I didn't say it wou—"

Holmes heard them coming long before he saw them. It wasn't a difficult matter, they were nattering on without pause, _bickering_ truly, the type of bickering with half formed sentences and unspoken rebuttals. The type that spoke of familiarity, of equal parts fondness and exasperation. It rather reminded Holmes of Watson and his own exchanges, to be entirely honest.

Their speech patterns were more than a bit odd. One spoke like a native of Queen and country, though his syntax and diction was measured, precise; young, but endeavoring dearly not to sound as such. The other sounded American, perhaps, yet there was a roundness to his tone that suggested he had been in London long enough that the local color had begun to bleed through, or was simply so inured to his companion that he'd absorbed it from him. He was young as well. And, Holmes strained to listen as the voice suddenly rose in fervor and pitch, there was a strange shadow of something around his r's and l's – so faint that he had almost thought he'd imagined it – that he couldn't quite identify the origins of.

He was so busy dwelling on that little mystery that he nearly missed the pair of them coming around the corner. Nearly.

Watson made a surprised sound in the back of his throat, likely at their odd dress. It was a barely audible sound, accustomed, as he was, to maintaining something of a low profile, but the dark haired boy's head shot up at the sound nonetheless, blue eyes narrowing on Watson and Holmes in an assessing manner that lasted barely half a second, before melting into something genial and beguiling, expertly constructed – disingenuous – smile spreading across his face. This boy was a born actor, no doubt.

He stopped and elbowed his companion in the stomach, muttering something in what Holmes was almost certain was Japanese. And suddenly he had two pairs of eyes on him and the doctor, and there was a long stretch of silence before the taller of the two stepped forward (angling himself so that he was practically standing in front of the smaller one, which was interesting enough without taking into consideration the scowl that settled onto the boy's face at the protective stance; familiar though they may be with each other, they most certainly didn't work together), clearing his throat awkwardly. "I'm terribly sorry to bother you two gentlemen but my… my friend— " A cough from his supposed friend at this, seemingly of surprise. Not friends then, obviously. The well mannered boy strove on determinedly nonetheless. "—and I are looking for a particular building. It, ah, it would be known by the name the Scarlet House, I suppose…"

"The owner's a complete loon." The dark haired boy piped up helpfully, looking completely earnest over the other boy's shoulder even as he turned to shoot him a dark look at the glib description. A dark look that was pointedly ignored as he continued. "Huge narcissist, long red hair, horde of brainwashed boys trailing after her like lovesick little puppies. Drives a broom."

The vaguely uptight boy's hand whipped out suddenly to cuff his associate across the back of the head but he was already gone, ducking and weaving around him and bending down to examine Watson's cane with a critical eye.

"Nice craftsmanship." He said, running a thumbnail along the seam of the hilt and sheath, and then he was away again, pushing between the two of them with barely a whisper of contact (this boy _was_ good) and using Watson as a human shield from his companions vengeful grasp.

"Really Kuroba, must you behave like this?" He demanded exasperatedly, and there was something in the dance between these two, the quicksilver grins from the smaller one and the blind determination of the other that reminded Holmes ever so slightly of his and Irene's relationship.

The barely there, ghosting touch of the manic one's – Kuroba, definitely Japanese – hand at his waistcoat pocket confirmed this deduction and Holmes caught the boy's wrist in his hand and looked down to see Kuroba beaming unrepentantly up at him.

His companion squawked in outrage. "Kuroba! What do you think you're doing?"

Kuroba shrugged easily, seemingly unbothered by the grip Holmes had on his wrist (even as Holmes marveled at the fragility of those thin little bones, at the ease with which he could crush them). "Practice?" He offered after a moment of staring up into the sky with a funny little smile on his face. "You'd cry like a little girl if I swiped your daddy's pocket watch again and no one wants that and besides." He opened the palm of his free hand to study Holmes' pipe with a detached sort of interest, baring his teeth in response to Holmes' unavoidable start of surprise before offering it back in a seemingly generous gesture. "It's not like I ever keep anything. Pipes are stinky." He informed Holmes quite seriously.

"I'll keep that in mind." Holmes said bemusedly, tucking the pipe back into his pocket and patting it once to assure himself that it was still there.

Watson interrupted what would have likely been another verbal attack on the blonde boy's part with an impatient sound, shifting his weight from his bad leg and casting a look at the distant structure of Big Ben. Mary, probably. It was always her these days. "I believe what you're looking for is just a bit further down in the direction that you've been heading, to the left. Dark, sullen looking place, yes?"

Kuroba shrugged again. "Probably. Last time I was there I was a little busy bleeding to really get a good look at the architecture."

"Yes, well." Watson said uncomfortably, unwilling to dwell too deeply on the new information. "It's on the corner. Best of luck on finding your friend."

"Not a friend, she's a _stalker._" Holmes thought he heard the boy mutter, but the next moment he was staring up at him through bangs that were too long, slow, easy smile on his lips as he said, "Gotta let go of my hand mister."

He did.


	6. Candle Man

**Series: **Candle Man

**Pairings: **… none. Well, except for maybe whoever made the tasty comment, but even I don't know who said it, so it doesn't really bear mentioning anyway.

**Warnings:** Really really obscure series. Melting people and cannibalism and a philosophical inquiring as to the true nature of good and bad. Theo, being Theo. Spoilers for the first book, set in some imaginary time following the conclusion where I make up what might have followed and am purposefully vague about what exactly that is.

**A/N: **This turned out really really good in my mind, I'm actually quite happy with it, which is fabulous considering when I first decided to crossover this series I had been wondering whether or not it was possible to write for it at all, really. I'm seriously fond of Theo as a character, the way his mind works is just precious. Second book in this series comes out in September so, goody! Can't wait! Read the book people, it really is quite good.

* * *

**The Good, the Bad, and the Morally Ambiguous**

* * *

"Theo Wickland." Theo said, introducing himself to the young man that Chloe absolutely _insisted_ would prove indispensible to their cause, whatever cause it was that she had decided they would be fighting for this week, in any case. She'd worked with him endlessly to shorten his self introduction from what was true and proper for one in his position, claiming that they didn't have time for him to go through all the graces when there were bad guys to fry, and that piles of goo didn't care whether you'd been entirely proper so much as for the fact that they were, in fact, goo, but it had still bothered him something awful until he'd settled on simply pretending that everyone he met had already _been_ introduced to him, and that he was simply reminding them of his name.

Most people he met these days were already aware of whom he was anyway, but formality was something from his past that he clung to desperately when he could, regardless.

The boy with the dark hair and blinding smile stopped short of shaking hands with him as his surname – his true surname, not the one that left him in control of the Society of Good Works after Dr. Saint's timely (not nearly timely enough, but then, Theo hated having thoughts like that so he usually settled for not thinking about the miserable man at all) demise, the one that, for that precise reason, he could not, regrettably, dispose of entirely – left his lips, however, which struck Theo as distinctly odd, and he told the boy – Kaito, was it? – as much.

Kaito smiled embarrassedly, stuffed his hands into his pockets and pointedly did not look Theo in the eyes. "Your… thing." He offered after the barest pause, gaze drifting inevitably to a thick white, half melted candle on the desktop that Theo couldn't honestly remember the last time it had been used; Theo frowned as he wiped a thumb across the surface and pulled back with a dirty thumb. He made a mental note to get rid of the candle later. There was a dark sort of humor to its placement there that unsettled him deeply. And his guest as well, apparently. "The melting thing. With your hands. Does it… does it only happen to bad people? Or to criminals in general?"

"Is there a difference?" Theo asked, curious.

"Mostly." Kaito muttered, pulling, of all things, a monocle out of his pocket, with a charming little clover ornament attached to the end. He held it up to the light streaming in through a high window to Theo's back and then closed his fist once around it and opened his hand again to reveal that it was empty. It was a marvelous bit of magic, really. "People can do all sorts of awful, nasty things with the law on their side. And sometimes the only way you can do the right thing, the _good_ thing is by breaking the law a little bit." He sighed, looking suddenly very very tired. "Do you understand?"

Theo thought on the Society of Good Works for a moment before nodding his head. "I think I do." He said honestly. There were so very many things, he was slowly learning, that he simply didn't know about the world outside of the Mercy Tube, but each discovery was a new adventure in of itself, and he had good people to hold his hand and help him find his way. Kaito, he decided, was a good person. Like Chloe. And Mr. Nicely, when he was free of Dr. Saint's very imposing shadow. The only problem was, he had no way of figuring out whether his hands felt the same way about the boy without testing the matter in the most dangerous way possible.

At least, if Kaito was really insinuating what he thought Kaito was insinuating.

"I don't know what they'd do." He admitted a bit self-consciously. It was silly, really. If anyone was to know about his… his ability than it would stand to reason that it would be himself, while in reality he knew perhaps the least of anyone. It was. Frustrating. Yes, frustrating was the word. "However, if Chloe is correct and you prove to be at least half as useful as she made you sound, I would much rather we didn't test the matter personally with you." _Perhaps I'll ask the Dodo about it later_, he added silently to himself, unwilling to part with that particular piece of information just yet.

Kaito laughed. A sharp, barking sound that startled Theo quite badly.

"What?"

He shrugged, and there was a fluidity in the motion that Theo had only ever seen in people like Chloe (people absolutely and unrepentantly comfortable in their own skins, a concept that Theo himself found entirely foreign), and yet, a elegance that reminded him of Dr. Saint when he was off on one of his 'for your own good' lectures, of, he'd realized shortly after his first daring sip of tea, a perfectly choreographed performance. For Theo, who had never been all that good of an audience, but he was learning. He was always learning. "I'm just not used to people calling me useful, I suppose." He said disparagingly. "Troublesome, yes, distracting, almost certainly. Once, tasty, but that is a story that will follow me to the grave."

Theo traced a shallow gouge in the desktop with his fingernail and tried very hard not to think about cannibalism. "Chloe is a very good judge of character." He said, wondering if that story about the laughing sickness was true. No, not thinking about cannibalism. "She might get a bit over excited sometimes, but she doesn't have any patience for things she doesn't think won't eventually help her out in the end. And no one here will try to eat you." Not thinking about… he frowned. "At least I don't think they will. I may have to put out some sort of memo, to be certain."

The boy's laughter was much more natural this time, bubbling past his lips and crinkling the skin around his eyes in an altogether pleasant fashion that Theo quite liked. If only he could figure out what he'd said that was so funny.


	7. Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy

**Series:** Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy

**Pairings: **A little bit of Ford/Kaito (in that, both are shameless flirts, and a silly thing like same gender or different species is hardly going to stop them for long).

**Warnings: **More crossdressing. Inebriation (in a bar - gee, go figure). Um, boys flirting with boys? Arthur being an idiot.

**A/N: **So I officially hate Super Bowl parties. It took me an HOUR to get home from work today. That's twice what it normally takes. I am so very not happy. But, er, in other news. Didn't realize until I wrote the last line, but this is set DIRECTLY before the first book in the series, might go a way to explain Arthur forgetting about the bulldozing in that dozy way he did, though I rather suspect that was just Arthur being Arthur. I have no idea who Kaito is hiding from or what he's planning, but I like the idea of Ford spotting him immediately and not really caring. Hopefully Kaito managed to find a green spaceship before the Earth exploded.

* * *

**The Green Ones**

* * *

Arthur finally tracked down Ford at the third pub he tried, face half buried behind three drained mugs of lager and flirting outrageously – Ford didn't know the meaning of the word 'subtlety', the last time Arthur had suggested it to him he'd stared blankly at his friend for a very long moment before asking if that was a type of sexual position – with a pretty little Asian barmaid.

She was giving as good as she got, twitching her hips and batting her eyes and pursing her lips coquettishly as she bent down to collect his empty glasses, nodding and laughing at something Ford said before pulling away with a moue of disappointment when another patron waved her over. Ford's eyes followed her all the way back to the bar.

Arthur shook his head in bafflement as he made his way to his friend's table. She was pretty, no doubt, but she barely looked old enough to be serving alcohol, let alone be invited round for a cuppa after chucking out time. (Ford didn't believe in leaving a bar before chucking out time, truly, Ford didn't really believe in chucking out time at all, but he usually went away without too much of a fuss if a short bit of skirt had managed to catch his attention. Arthur had a sneaking suspicion that Ford didn't use words like 'cuppa' or 'come round' to get those girls clinging to his shoulder like they did, but Arthur wasn't quite brave enough to contemplate what _was_, so he clung fast to that tidy fantasy like a man drowning.)

He pulled out an empty chair, waving his hand in front of Ford's face to get his attention. Ford turned a hazy, pleased smile his way. "Arthur!" He crowed, baring his teeth in what had always struck Arthur as a vaguely ominous manner. "You're just in time for another drink! Hey baby!" He pitched his voice across the room, waving a hand wildly in the air and cracking Arthur in the nose no less than twice in the process. "A glass for my friend as well! For the best friend with two eyes and a nose a guy could ask for!"

Oh dear, Ford had had a few more than just three glasses, if he was already talking like that. Arthur had to figure out how to get him out of here before he started ranting about spaceships again. He began making contrary noises in the back of his throat, but Ford was already raucously singing some song to do with penguins and petunias and even Arthur couldn't hear himself over the clamor.

The barmaid hardly bothered to look up, counting something out at the counter, silently mouthing the numbers as she did to help keep track, but there was a sharp little smile sent their way regardless and not half a minute later she was swinging by their table with two tall glasses, sliding one before each man and reaching back to smack away Ford's wandering hands, that smile never once leaving her face. "My~" She hummed, taking one neat sidestep to the left to take her out of Ford's reach and, consequently, closer to Arthur. "You're right, he _does_ have two eyes and a nose." She leaned in conspiratorially, winking. "He's said an awful lot of nice things about you, you know. And a few not so nice things, but he was pretty upset with Velcro at that point so I suspect he was only taking his frustration out on something familiar."

"Oh." Arthur despaired, sinking low in his seat and trying very hard not to look at the gap in her blouse from where she was leaning over. "You shouldn't listen to him when he gets like this. He'll say just about anything to charm a pretty girl. Except, perhaps, 'cuppa'."

Ford snickered into the rim of his mug.

Her smiled turned a bit puzzled at the corners and she straightened up, smoothing down her skirt in a distinctly nervous motion. Ford's laughter grew exponentially louder and, after a moment's contemplation, she joined him. "Pity there are no pretty girls about." She said between giggles, a bit of hair escaping from one of her white butterfly barrettes and falling into her eyes. "I'd like to hear what constitutes a whopper from the spaceman."

"Oh, come now, don't talk like that. You're. You're plenty pretty. You just don't…" Arthur floundered magnificently. It might have gone a ways to explaining why he hadn't had a date in quite some time, really. "… spaceman?"

"Mmhm." She said easily, pulling out a wet cloth to wipe down a nearby table, head titled to the side to regard the both of them through strangely narrowed eyes. "Green ones, didn't you say?"

Ford nodded emphatically, nearly knocking his still half full glass of lager on the floor. He stared at it blearily for a moment before shrugging and tilting his head back to swallow the last of it down in one. "Those're the one! Lovely green skimmers, you'll tell me if you see one, won't you baby?" He began eyeing Arthur's untouched lager. Sighing, Arthur pushed it over to him. Ford dove into it triumphantly.

"Of course. Eyes to the stars, me."

Arthur made certain that Ford was thoroughly preoccupied with his drink before frowning as sternly as he could manage to muster up (not much, as it happened). "You shouldn't humor him." He told her. "Or he'll never stop it with that joke."

The barmaid, however, was quite the apt hand at stern. Arthur felt a bit like a child who had just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar by his mother after he was warned not to spoil his appetite for supper. "There's nothing funny about the stars." She said, rubbing at what must have been a particularly stubborn spot on the table, for how much she was putting into the motion. He was left wondering just what it was that he'd said that seemed to upset her so.

"I…" He began, nervously, when Ford slammed his (Arthur's) empty glass on the tabletop and exclaimed loudly,

"Right! Yes! Arthur! I haven't introduced you two, have I? This is Kaito. He's the one who's been bringing me drinks. Kaito, this is Arthur. He's very boring, but you can hardly blame him, living his entire life on this backwater planet. Would make anyone dull. Arthur is going to—"

"Wait." Arthur held up a hand, shaking his head as if to clear it. He couldn't have heard Ford correctly, just then. Except, Arthur hadn't had anything to drink yet, and Ford's voice was certainly loud enough to drown out any other sounds in the pub. And they had both laughed when he'd insisted that the barmai— Kaito – was a very pretty girl. No. There was no way… "What do you _mean_ 'he'?" Arthur demanded, voice a tad more shrill than he would have liked, but his world view was sort of fracturing here at the moment so he rather felt he had the right.

Ford's expression was entirely too blasé as he said, "Kaito's a boy."

Kaito nodded agreeably and smoothed down his skirt once more, casting an anxious look back at the bartender and then to Arthur.

"WHY?!" Was the only thing Arthur could manage to say.

"He's in disguise, obviously." Ford told him, reaching forward to touch Kaito's elbow, nodding up toward the bar. "Get him another one, would you? I'll make sure he drinks this one. Think he needs it, right Arthur? Ready to get absolutely bladdered? You'll feel better when you can't remember any of today, you know you will."

Kaito skittered off to the bar with the order, and Ford's eyes still followed him, and Arthur resolutely refused to deal with that. He buried his face in his hands and tried very very hard not to cry. The city wanted to bulldoze his house and Ford was flirting with a boy in a skirt, and he'd had his chance with perhaps the most perfect girl in the world wrested from him from some flash braggart, and Ford was flirting with _a boy in a skirt_, and he figured Ford might actually have the right idea this time for once.

It might be nice to forget everything for a while


	8. Stargate Sg1

**Series: **Stargate Sg-1

**Pairings: **Nothing. Nada. Zilch. I tend to be a big Danny Jack shipper but there's not even any of that here.

**Warnings: **Soldiers with guns, a bit of Daniel babble. Teal'c not getting many lines because, well, because he's Teal'c. A bit of gallows humor.

**A/N:** I actually had this idea a few months ago (because that place is so cluttered there WOULD be a stargate there) and then totally forgot about it, so it was kind of a nice surprise settling down to this project and remembering it. KID was supposed to steal a DHD from a museum for them, I think. And it's the original team because while I have nothing against Ben Browder, liked him even (Cam was a bit like a big, stupid, eager puppy, which was awfully endearing), he's still no Richard Dean Anderson, is he?

* * *

**A Kid**

* * *

Jack was quickly losing his patience.

"I'm not going to ask you again." He growled, angling the nose of his P-90 at the mouthy little brat's knees and finger twitching on the trigger, warning clear. It used to be kids treated adults with a little more respect than this. Well. No, he amended, they didn't, really, but back then you could take the switch to them. These days people started screaming child abuse if you so much as looked at them wrong. "Where is this. Who are you. And most importantly, how do we get out of here."

The boy hunched deeper into his jacket, scowling rather impressively for someone who barely came up to Jack's shoulders. "Didn't sound much like questions to me." He muttered mutinously into his collar, and made to shove his hands into his pockets. Teal'c stepped forward and the staff weapon hummed in his hands. The boy's scowl deepened further, eyes darting to assess him in an unmistakably familiar, sweeping motion. A soldier of this world then, Jack reasoned to himself, or at least as close as a place that relied on children to fight their wars could get to one. His gaze hardened, darkened, lips thinning. "I'm not answering anything with a gun pointed at me." He said, giving Jack's gun a pointed look.

"You'll do what I tell you to, you little—"

"Jack." Daniel said, making a soft, frantic noise in the back of his throat and placing himself rather stupidly in front of him. Jack lowered the gun even further, unwilling to risk a bit of friendly fire, on top of everything else. Daniel held his hands out in the classic pose of the peaceful explorer, and smiling benignly at the boy, even as he hissed reprovingly at Jack from the corner of his mouth. "Can't you see that you're scaring him?"

Jack snorted derisively. Daniel turned to shoot him a startled look over his shoulder. "Kid's not scared Danny." He locked eyes with the boy – who matched him stare for stare – and waggled his eyebrows. "You're not scared, are you?" He asked, pointedly ignoring the strange looks he was getting from Carter.

"No." The kid's lips twitched briefly, and his own eyebrows traveled up to disappear into his hairline. "I'm not. I just really don't like guns."

"See the barrel end of many of them?" Jack asked casually.

"Enough." Was the stilted answer.

Expecting it didn't soften the blow any, and Jack saw Daniel flinch back as if he'd just been kicked in the teeth. The space between one breath and another and Daniel was crowding forward to make up for his lost ground, all hushed reassurances and we're not going to _hurt_ you's and…

And. The boy took one step back for each step forward of Daniel's, but he was all sharp, smiling teeth and eyes glinting with dark humor. "I'm not _afraid_ of you guys." He reminded them, socked feet making no sound on the vaguely concrete looking floor as he moved to position himself with his back to a painting on the wall. "I can handle myself better in here than you, and four against one is much better odds than I'm used to, to be honest. Though, while we're on the subject, I would like to know what it is you think you're doing in my father's workroom."

"That's what _we_ wanna know!" Jack barked, throwing his hands up into the air in frustration.

Carter spoke up thoughtfully behind him. "If it's your father's workroom then he's probably going to be the resident expert on the gate. He'll probably be able to tell us where we are and how to get back. Or at least have some idea where we can find that information for ourselves." She said, examining the gate with a critical eye. It hung from the ceiling behind her as she spoke, like some cold, dead thing, blending so seamlessly into the rest of the clutter of the room that it looked like just another piece of junk, a stark white cape draped across one corner, a white top hat sitting innocuously at its base.

"Yeah, I'm sure he'll get right on that." The boy said mockingly, head cocked to the side like a bird and lips curled wryly. "Just as soon as he figures out how to stop being dead."

"Danny could probably give him a few tips." Jack said sportingly, ignoring the dirty look that Daniel shot him over the rim of his glasses. "So I guess that puts you in charge of this mess. Tell you what. Maybe we got off on a bit of the wrong foot. I've got this crazy thing about not liking to be trapped in unfamiliar, enclosed spaces, and you're apparently not too fond of having guns shoved in your face when you're in the middle of tinkering with…" He trailed off for a moment, eyeing the strange, small mechanism that the boy had been fiddling over when they'd first stepped through the gate. Damned if he knew what it was or what it did. "…whatever that is. And that's completely understandable. But, you see, we've got a little problem here. There's a new episode of the Simpsons on tonight, and I'd like to get back home in time to see it, and that won't happen unless we figure out a few things here first. Maybe you can help us out."

The kid nodded warily. "I'm listening." He said.

"Let's start with something easy." Jack suggested invitingly. "My name is Jack. Mr. Peaceful Explorer here—" He nudged Daniel with his shoulder, chuckling and ducking a swat from him. "—is called Daniel and the blonde in the back is Sam. The big, chatty guy is Teal'c. We just can't seem to get him to shut up." He confided expansively, and was rewarded with a tense, darting smile from the boy. "What's your name then, kid?"

He regarded them all quietly for a moment before apparently coming to some sort of a decision. "Kaito." He said, expression sliding easily into a smirk as he continued. "And I'm not a kid, _old man._"

Jack glared and opened his mouth to argue when Daniel and his unnaturally quick patter beat him to it. "Kaito?" He echoed, examining the contents of the room with a new spark of interest. "Asiatic origins maybe? Do you write it with Kanji? But then why do you speak English? Was there some sort of cultural merging and all that was left behind were the names? Or maybe—"

"I don't know about any of that." Kaito said, watching Daniel with wide eyed alarm, likely wishing he had more space to retreat from that special brand of scholarly fervor, with his back pressed close to the wall like it was. "I just spoke English because that's what you used." He shrugged, shoulders rising up to frame his face. "There was that whole 'east meets the west' during the Meiji period, sure, but that was ages ago, and we still speak Japanese here."

Daniel looked more than a bit startled to be interrupted mid flow. "Oh. Oh. You speak very good English." He said finally, sounding more than a tad disappointed at the revelation. Jack sympathized, just the tinniest bit. Poor guy was never going to get a chance to use his twenty three languages if all these worlds kept speaking English.

"The planet." Teal'c rumbled sedately behind Jack.

"Teal'c is right, sir." Carter confirmed, looking up briefly from her perfunctory examination of the gate. "We have to figure out where we are so that we can get started on retrieving the return address. We're supposed to check in in a little less than an hour."

"Right." Jack nodded, clearing his throat to drag the boy's attention from Daniel (still muttering theories wildly under his breath) to himself. "We need to know what planet this is. And if there's any sort of stone cover or sign with the sort of symbols like what are on the gate carved into it somewhere in here. It's _really _important." He stressed a moment later, when Kaito gave him a blank look for his troubles.

"… you're joking right?"

Jack growled. They didn't have time for this. "Do I look like I'm laughing?"

There was another long stretch of silence as the kid seemed to contemplate just that, eyeing him speculatively and fingers twitching fitfully against his legs. His eyes slid from Jack to Daniel, from Daniel to Teal'c, and then to Sam, resting, finally, on the stargate. He bounced once on the balls of his feet and Jack could tell that he was currently fighting the urge to bolt. "Earth." He said softly, then. So softly, Jack knew he must have misheard him.

Daniel, too, apparently. "You mean Derth?" He prompted helpfully. "Or maybe Perth? Something along those lines?"

"Noooooooo." Kaito said, giving Daniel a strange look. "I mean Earth as in _Earth_."

"That's not possible." Daniel said. "We just _came _from Earth. And you're not speaking Russian, so we obviously didn't come through their gate, and—"

"I could speak Russian." Kaito offered obligingly. "If it'll make you feel better."

"WHY DON'T WE ALL," Jack said in his best colonel's voice, overriding all of the frenzied chatter in the small room and making sure he had everyone's attention before he continued. "Just take a deep breath and calm down. We'll figure this out. We _will_." He insisted, cutting off Sam sharply as she opened her mouth to say something undoubtedly complicated and sciencey that he wasn't really in the mood to hear right then. "Kaito. I spend enough time underground back home, I'd really appreciate a window right about now, if you could."

Kaito nodded once, a tad unsteadily, before reaching behind him to finger one corner of the portrait to his back, which swung forward to reveal a normal enough looking room just beyond; a single bed with cobalt blue bed covers, a dresser drawer, a lamp, and, blessedly, a window, sunlight streaming in through open curtains. Jack took a step forward only to be stopped by an outstretched hand and determined look. "Boots. Off." Kaito demanded. "I won't have you all tramping around my room and dirtying the floor with them. I'll go tell mom we've got company." He added, climbing through the entryway and padding quickly out of sight, shouting something down the hall in what Jack presumed was Japanese.

"What did I say?" Jack said humorously, bending down to undo his bootlaces, and smiling at nothing and no one in particular. "A kid."


	9. Neverwhere

**Series: **Neverwhere

**Pairings: **Tiny, tiny allusion to Richard's old fiancé, but I can't even be buggered to remember her name, so I don't think it's really all that important. And Hakuba and Aoko and Kaito _might_ be involved in some sort of sordid threesome, I don't know. Also a small hint at Richard/Door, though you can just take it as them being friends, if you even notice it.

**Warnings: **TEA. … yeah, I don't know either.

**A/N: **Huge, huge fan of Neverwhere here. Huge. This and American Gods are right up there in the top favorites. I loved the whole London Below setting, all the people, and I rather thought Kid would fit in quite nicely there. He gets Queen's line because I don't remember it making any appearance in the book, and because it runs along beneath a museum and a circus, I think, which rather strikes me as something that Kid would love to have above him. The tea thing may or may not be my obsession with the Mad Hatter seeping through, who knows?

* * *

**Tea**

* * *

It began, as any great adventure must, with a cup of tea.

Richard hadn't really been meaning anything by it at the time, complaining about a lack of tea in the greater London Underground. It had been something to say in the lull between Floating Market's and running small, demeaning errands for the Marquis and effectively banging his head against the tunnel walls in an effort to track down any information on Door's sister; of looking over his shoulder for someone else when people hailed him as a hero and a hunter, biting back a shiver of distaste every time a rat skittered across his foot or climbing tremulously to the surface to sit in the sun for five – ten minutes and telling himself that he didn't regret any of his choices, not one little bit, even as he found himself humming the chorus of "I'm a Believer" under his breath.

(The thing about regrets, Old Bailey had explained to him once, was that you always had them. But if you kept yourself busy enough, you could almost forget that you did, for an hour or two at least.)

Tea was a true British comfort that he had grown startlingly fond of following his transfer to London, and while he would hesitate to use such a powerful word as 'regret' for something so trivial, it was a luxury that he would not have necessarily said no to, one way or another. Not nearly desperate enough to contemplate the Marquis' offer of a trade (for a favor, of course, the only currency the man ever dabbled in) when he first brought up the matter, at least. He wasn't completely daft.

Anymore.

"If you're after tea," Door had said, pulling a piece of her hair to the front and idly braiding it, tying a bit of red ribbon at the end. "Then you'll be wanting to stop by Kid's domain. He's got it all. White tea, green tea, chamomile tea, herbal tea, earl grey tea, model T…"

"The real trick of it," the Marquis had continued, sprawled across Door's sofa like a large, pleased housecat "is _finding_ the bugger in that great big stretch of tunnel he calls a home. All of Queen's road he was gifted, by the Scarlet witch, and all for what? A foolish child's crush, unrequited. But he's a disgustingly amiable sort, always keen for company and if you stand somewhere along the main road and shout a bit he'll almost certainly swan out of the dark to find you."

He'd had nothing better to do with his afternoon, and he knew the line well enough, though none of his travels _below_ previous had taken him along that way, so he went. Admittedly, it was that sort of lateral thinking that usually got him into trouble, the sort of which inevitably ended with the Marquis saving his neck for some exorbitant price, but the distant promise of tea, and maybe a few small biscuits – you could only find digestive ones underground, for rather obvious reasons – was too good of an opportunity to pass up. And anyone that made the de Cabaras sneer like that was someone Richard wanted to be friends with.

The slender, dark haired, violet eyed youth clad in impossibly immaculate white, top hat tilted rakishly to one side and monocle glinting from one eye, cape licking at his heels as he lead Richard down a dark, slightly damp tunnel to a tea party being held beneath the museum already in full swing, a boy in tweed and a girl in blue his guests was not what he had expected, however. Kid pulled a chair out for him, intoning stoically what an honor it was to sit with the Underground's greatest hunter, but rather managing to spoil the effect by giggling manically at the end, leaning down to whisper something into the girl's ear that had her giggling along with him. The tweed boy sipped serenely at his tea and ignored the two twittering like children at his side and settled a probing look on Richard.

"Er." Richard said, fiddling with the pale blue napkin set before him on the table and wondering exactly how big of an idiot of himself he would make if he made for a run for it just then. But he could see the steam rising gently from the patterned tea cups, and suddenly an idle fancy was there, in front of him, smelling sweetly of cream, and he couldn't bring himself to move. They had Jammy Dodgers, for God's sake. _Jammy Dodgers_. "Hi. I'm Richard." The Beast, the Velvets, Islington and those awful Croup and Vandemar men could have all come stampeding down the tunnel at that moment, and he wouldn't have moved from his seat.

"Saguru." The somber boy inclined his head in greeting and then nodded to the other two, who had seemed to calm down somewhat, the girl nibbling on a chocolate biscuit and Kid pouring Richard a cup of tea (and, consequently, making him one of Richard's most favorite people in all of the London Below, except for possibly Door). "This is Aoko." The girl smiled and waved, dashing off a small, quick 'hello', which Richard returned. "And _that_," he continued, stressing the word like he still wasn't quite sure what that was, even if he had, in the end, settled down to tea with it, "is Kaito."

"—Kid!" The white clad boy interjected hurriedly, eyes wide and teeth bared in the other boy's direction. "Kaitou Kid is my full title, but most around here just call me Kid for short."

There was a moment of silent communication between the two boys, spoken only with their eyes, and Richard wondered if wearing a monocle made that sort of thing a bit like speaking with a mouth full of marbles. Then Saguru smiled; a slow forming thing that looked far more menacing than it did ambivalent. Richard bit back a shiver. "Are you entirely certain that they are not simply calling you on your age?" He said rosily, selecting a Jammy Dodger for himself.

Kid's hand snaked out in a flash and snagged the treat from Saguru's hand, popping it into his mouth with a small flourish, perhaps to prevent it from being taken from him as well. He seemed to preen under the dark look the other boy sent his way. "I seem to remember _someone_ here being two months young than me, Aoko, do you remember who that might be?"

"Heiji?" Aoko offered sweetly, stirring a small silver spoon in her tea cup only to smile across the table, staring up at the fussy young man (looking anywhere but at her) through her eyelashes. "And our own handsome Saguru, of course."

Saguru flushed.

Kid cackled.

Aoko sedately stirred her tea.

And Richard? Richard helped himself to another biscuit and kept quiet. It had nothing to do with him after all, and he'd long ago learned that poking your nose into that sort of business only ever led to trouble in the end. Of course, if he was honest, that sort of thing had never actually served to stop him before, had it? He took a sip, and closed his eyes to savor the flavor.

Perhaps after he finished his tea.


	10. Graveyard Book

**Series: **Graveyard Book

**Pairings: **None

**Warnings:** Conversations about death and a bit of gallows humor. Allusions to sinister dealings between men and boys, but only so far as some unknowing authority figure's imagination, because Silas and Bod? No. Just no.

**A/N: **Another Niel Gaiman work, a bit difficult to get a handle on without having read the book itself but hopefully the narrative was enough to clear up just enough to intrigue people to go check this book out. Ahahaha, writer's agenda? What writer's agenda?

* * *

**Lessons in Being Dead**

* * *

Bod traveled.

He had a passport, and enough money that if the right – or, as he had quickly come to learn in his interaction with the living, the wrong – people bothered to take notice of him there would be some _questions_ about what someone so young was doing with so much, though thankfully enough of his years of Fading and Creeping through the graveyard had stuck with him even after his, well, dismissal was the only proper word he could come up with for what had happened, except that made it sound as if he hadn't had any choice in the matter (even if he hadn't, really) and he didn't like to dwell on the matter too much because if he was honest with himself – and the dead had taught him to always be that, because when your body was gone and your headstone faded, there wasn't much left to you except for honesty – he still missed the place terribly, missed Silas most of all, that even without the graveyard's protection he still managed to remain mostly inconspicuous to the world at large in that blurry, edge of your vision sort of way that most people found far too bothersome to pursue to any end.

And for those that did notice? Well. Bod had been awful good at running away from people who meant him no good, ever since he was two, and the one time he'd stuck around long enough after the back of his neck started prickling to answer a few questions, the inferences that the police officer had made from his vague response of "Silas" when he asked where he'd gotten all that money from had made Bod's stomach squirm terribly, and he'd been forced to kick the man in the shins in order to get away to avoid other questions that he had no answers for.

Bod had no mother or father to call home to. His first set had died when he was barely two, and his second, long before he had even been born. He was nobody's child. Nobody's ward. He was simply Nobody Owens, and he had promised the dead, and he had promised the living, and everyone in between, that he would see the world, and he had every intention of doing so.

He met the boy touched by death in Japan, one stop before Korea and one stop after India, perched in a tree and resplendent in white, something which should have shown out like a beacon in the dark, moonless night, but none of the patrolling police officers down below had ever once glanced up into the sparse branches and espied him. Not one. Bod watched him serenely from just beyond the police cordon, intrigued and perhaps a bit nostalgic, but it wasn't until he tilted his head to the side to look _right at Bod_ – and smile, if something so sharp and serpentine could ever be considered as such – as something _shifted_ just at the boy's shoulder blades and he took to the sky, that Bod chose to duck under the caution tape with barely a whisper of acknowledgment from the crowds, skirting around officers and detectives and nodding distractedly at a small boy in glasses that apologized for bumping into him, eyes turned ever upward to track the boy's path through the sky.

Bod finally caught up to him in a deserted mall parking lot, arms crossed over his chest and leaning back against the base of a broken lamppost, observing Bod's hurried approach through strange, violet colored eyes. Words came tumbling out of his mouth like he was a child again. "Are you dead?" He cringed, shortly after. Silas would have had a few things to say to him about his casual disrespect, and Mrs. Owens wouldn't have even bothered with the words. Liz might have even threatened to curse him for the transgression.

The boy, however, simply chuckled, a soft, whisper-wind sound in the still night air, and made a show of examining himself for any bodily injury, though Bod rather thought the red would have stained any part of his costume – and it was a costume, Bod realized now, eccentric and contradictory as it may seem to him – bright enough to stand out like a target on his back (chest, arms, legs, head, wherever). Finally he shrugged his shoulders, grinning easily, and said, "If I am, I seem to have made a remarkable recovery."

"I'm sorry." Bod apologized, proper – albeit a tad unconventional – upbringing demanding he do so. "You're obviously not, except, ordinarily it's only the dead that can Fade so well. Unless you know a witch – _do_ you know a witch?" And there, more probing, but at least it wasn't about something so terribly personal this time.

The boy stills, smile turning a bit stale at the edges and fingers dancing anxiously against his thighs. He regards Bod quietly for a moment, thoughtfully. His eyes remind Bod a bit of Silas, somehow, only he can't quite put his finger on what exactly. "I do." He said eventually, hesitantly. "But she knows better than to cast anything on me now, especially without my permission. But I might…" He paused, nibbled on his lower lip and fiddled with something in his pocket before continuing. "If this Fading thing that you're talking about it is connected to death then I, well, when I wear this suit. I suppose I must be something of a ghost."

"The suit?"

"Belonged to someone who's dead now." The boy added, glancing off at some point just above Bod's left shoulder. "But when I put it on, just for a little while, he's alive again. And I'm not. Does that make any sense?" Bod started shaking his head a half a second after he'd begun to nod. The boy just sighed, rubbing a hand tiredly against his face. It was so late it was early now, Bod realized with a start, and then the boy narrowed his eyes speculatively in his direction. "And you?" He asked. "How do you know about all of this?"

"Oh." Bod said carelessly, tilting his head back to stare up at the night sky, remembered Miss Lupescu patiently teaching him the constellations, oh so long ago. "I know all about the dead. It's the living that I don't know anything about."

The boy, the ghost who wasn't yet dead, frowned. "Yeah," he said solemnly, "I know what you mean."


	11. The Dark is Rising

**Series: **The Dark is Rising

**Pairings: **Pretty damn close to Bran/Kaito and, strangely, I find myself rather fond of the couple. WHAT. It could work!

**Warnings: **Er… cut fingers? And to cut all you dirty minders off at the pass, _not that kind of dream_.

**A/N:** I honestly thought I'd have Will in this, as I've such a soft spot for his blandly seriously little self, but my brain spat out an image of Kaito and Bran sitting on the hills in Wales and it _has_ been all but fanonically accept that following the final battle Will most likely withdrew from the other children and became something of a recluse, misconstruing the meaning of "watcher" to mean "voyeur", so… I don't know, I wouldn't be all that shocked if Kaito found Pandora in the Welsh mountains. Could be an interesting story, that.

* * *

**The Good Guys Wear White**

* * *

"I'm looking for something." Kaito had told Bran when he first asked the strange foreign boy with the dark, knowing eyes, skilled, dancing fingers and sly mouth that wrapped itself around Welsh consonants with an ease that belied his inexperience with the culture, hands on his hips and smiling into the sun.

Bran had been struck by a hazy memory of Will just then; the well mannered, solemn faced twelve year old English boy who'd come for a stay with an uncle last Spring to recover from a sickness in the countryside.

They'd struck up something of a friendship with each other, he recalled, Bran showing him around and laughing at Will's awful attempt at pronouncing the local landmarks, but that had been several years ago, and though Bran had written him once or twice (always after one of_ those_ dreams, the ones that left him angry and confused, the ones that he could never remember again in the morning) Will had steadily grown more and more distant and uncommunicative, and Bran had far too little of himself that he was willing to reveal to others to endlessly toss coins into the well without any sort of ripple to show for it.

But where Will was reserved and unsociable Kaito was manic, ebullient, and apparently more than willing to drag Bran into whatever strange new adventure he'd constructed for the day. He also didn't seem to take no for an answer.

Not that Bran had much tried, of course, he liked that Kaito always looked him in the eyes, and threatened to dye his hair all sorts of unusual colors.

"Something you're going to find in the Welsh countryside?" He'd asked sardonically as they puffed their way up one hill and Kaito had paused at the top, arms outstretched like he was about to take flight and a strangely content smile on his face even as the sweat began to cool on the back of his neck and he shivered.

Bran had called him a fool as he stole one of the seemingly hundreds of handkerchiefs that Kaito stored in his pockets at any given time and wiped him dry, warning him that if he got sick now Bran was not going to play nursemaid to him (to which Kaito had simply smiled wider and patted him on the cheek and said nothing at all, though his eyes said "liar", clear as day).

Tumble down that hill and up another one and Bran set down on a rocky outcrop and watched Kaito poke around thoughtfully in the dirt, and Bran couldn't help but add, "Planning on uncovering some secret treasure trove buried beneath the hills, perhaps?" even as a strangely humming voice in the back hissed, unequivocally, _yes._

"Perhaps." Kaito had said bemusedly, tossing Bran a length of tree branch – silver birch, and Bran's fingers tingled as they closed around it – and challenging him to a duel, sufficiently managing to distract him for the rest of the day.

Kaito was good at that; and Bran had long ago given up trying to hold it against him.

The second time Bran asked him, one month into his stay and having done nothing more productive with his time than running the dogs with Bran and learning a few chords on the harp, ripping the pads of his fingers up in the process and ignoring the issue until Bran was forced to push it, cornering him in the kitchen and sitting him in a chair, knees pinned between both of his to prevent the boy from spiriting himself away like he so often did when any of the old ladies in town cooed over and tried to take care of him – and it was _frustrating_ how completely Kaito could disappear when he didn't want to be found, which had made Bran wonder once, fleetingly, if maybe Kaito was here because he was hiding from someone – and hands in his lap so he could rub antiseptic into the nicks and tears, and neatly bandage them up (_nursemaid_, Kaito had murmured fondly), Kaito had grinned at him from across the paddock, pressed a finger to his lips and said, "Fighting the bad guys."

"Bad guys?" Bran frowned, waiting for another flickering sting of familiarity to slicker-slide down his spinal column, and something sang way down deep in his bones, daring anything to come here, to his home, _his home_. "That Darkness?" A name sprang, unbidden, to his lips.

"Nothing so melodramatic as all that." Kaito said dismissively, smile wry and eyebrows climbing high up into his hairline, eyes bright with something that Bran couldn't quite define, though that was hardly a new experience for him; Kaito's expressions were always layers upon layers, a hundred different meanings and it was impossible to find them all, but if you stuck with him long enough you started to learn more than a few of them.

"Melodrama—!"

Kaito's hand had darted out, brushing the hair out of Bran's eyes and resting his forehead against Bran's, smiling sweetly. "There is good, and there is evil." He said softly. "There is a darkness that breathes and consumes and cannot be banished by the light, and there is a hero, blazing sword in hand to beat back at the night for a short while, just long enough for us to feel the sun, before the shadows begin to creep back in. I am not that hero."

Bran opened his mouth to say, to say what, he hadn't a clue, but Kaito shushed him, fingers to lips, bandages scraping lightly at Bran's mouth, pressed so close that his breath was mixing with Bran's own, warm and slightly sweet from a strawberry hard candy he'd been sucking on earlier.

He continued. "But there is evil at a smaller level that simply cannot be ignored, and I stand in a position to doing something about them, well. More _cavort_ than stand, really, standing rather puts me at a disadvantage of being shot and—and I'm not a hero. And sometimes the only way you can actually tell me apart from the bad guys is that they wear black and I wear white." He paused for a moment, breathed deep. "Sometimes," Kaito said, pulling away finally and stuffing his hands in his pockets, staring hard off into the distance, "the good guys wear white. And sometimes they don't. But it's something to believe in all the same. The real question is, Bran, what is it that_ you_ believe in?"

Bran doesn't answer, except to thread his fingers with Kaito's and quietly drag him back to the cabin to change his bandages.

It speaks measures, just the same.


	12. Chrestomanci Series

**Series: **Chrestomanci Series

**Pairings: **Mentions of Chrestomanci/Millie (his wife) and Akako's strange, demented little crush on Kaito rears its ugly head again. No. Wait. I think it's kinda cute, actually.

**Warnings: **Mentions of drugging food for nefarious purposes, much bickering and Hakuba being a close minded idiot even in the presence of a nine-lived enchanter. Oh, and poor Chrestomanci being summoned for no reason whatsoever. Kinda like Beetlejuice that way, except without the striped stairwell banister snake.

**A/N: **Featuring Christopher Chant as the Chrestomanci, but sometime after Charmed Life because he's met Cat and the sister from hell that is Gwendolyn. I figure Akako and Kaito must have been pestering Hakuba for quite awhile about the chant to actually rile him up enough to _do_ it in that 'ha! Gonna prove you wrong' kind of way that a kid might say, just before freezing his tongue to a metal pole in winter.

* * *

**A Summons**

* * *

"—told you, didn't I? Honestly, it's like chanting Bloody Mary at a mirror, it's not…"

The boy that appeared to have been lecturing two others faded off uncertainly as Chrestomanci strolled into view, looking for all intents and purposes as if he'd merely been out on a mid-afternoon stroll, excluding the rather sticky matter of having walked through a tree to do so, an unfortunate side effect of having _been_ on a stroll back home when he had been called, the subsequent momentum of such causing a misstep in his reentry that had deposited him three feet further to the left than he had first intended.

Chrestomanci cast his gaze around the small cluster of children that had apparently summoned him, brushing the sleeves of his dressing gown for any leaves of bits of bark that might have rubbed off on the transfer. The one who had been speaking was gaping, mildly, hands half frozen in the air to reinforce some point he had been making, which he hurriedly pulled down to his sides when he noticed the Chrestomanci's eyes on them, so he was observant at least. Even if his dress sense did leave much to be desired. To his right was a pretty girl with long scarlet colored hair who, by the imperious way she held herself, knew very well just how pretty she was and took pride in it, perhaps even to extremis. Combined with the strong magic Chrestomanci could see bubbling up within her, she reminded him rather uneasily of Gwendolyn Chant, but there was something soft in her eyes, almost meek, when she slanted a look to the side at the final boy in their company, that told him she'd already learned where her limits lie.

The final boy punched the first in the shoulder, ducking the swift swinging reprisal with a fluid, measured grace only to spoil the entire image by sticking his tongue out in a childish pique of glee soon after. He had dark hair and a strange, sparking sort of manic energy spilling off him in waves, bouncing on the balls of his feet and fingers flexing every few moments at his side, almost as though he was being continuously shocked by a small electrical impulse at the base of his spine. And he was… Chrestomanci squinted as the boy leaned in to whisper something to the girl, something which had her baring her teeth – there was no definition of a smile that fit _that_ – slyly at the boy between them, attempting to get a better look and, huh. That was interesting.

With an unspoken agreement the girl and the boy that held her leash latched onto the other boy simultaneously and pushed him forward toward Chrestomanci. "He did it." The boy said, shoving him forward a half a step more with his announcement. "Idiot wanted to prove himself superior by disproving what he called a… what'd he call it again, Akako?"

The 'superior idiot' thrashed in their hold, obviously quite displeased with their current arrangement. "If you don't let go of me right this instant Kuroba, I swear I'll—!" Kuroba smiled and patted the other boy once on the head, cooing sweetly, before hastily resuming a two handed grip on his arm when it was nearly wrenched from his grasp. Akako simply dug her nails in deep; wisely, the boy didn't appear to be fighting her too much.

"A superstitious ritual." Akako sniffed, and with how she stunk of herbs and cauldron smoke, tiny, nearly invisible nicks on her fingers from what was undoubtedly a ritualistic dagger, the way her grip tightened _just long_ enough to draw blood, she had obviously taken the words as a personal slight.

Chrestomanci crossed his arms over his chest as Kuroba loosely shook his head, taking advantage of their captive's lessening struggle to pick a look thread from the boy's shoulder. "No, not that one. The other, not so nice thing he…" He trailed off, eyes drawn to the proud witch's vice grip on the skeptic's arm. He frowned, tugging insistently on a lock of her hair and whining. "Akakooooooooo~"

Akako's grip loosened the tiniest bit. She gave him an innocent look. Or, rather, she tried to, in any case. "What?"

"You can't hurt Hakuba just because he's an ignorant lout." He said, ignoring the objective 'hey!' from Hakuba concerning the label. His hold on the other boy had shifted subtly from restraining to containing, and with the witch's retreat as well on the other side it would have been a simple matter to escape at that point, though Hakuba made no move to leave. "Who else is going to save the world from the bad guys, if you put our star detective out of commission?

Akako scoffed, and Hakuba bristled at the dismissive sound. "Maybe someone who can actually identify the bad from the good?" She suggested frostily,

"Coming from someone." Hakuba said stiffly, words clipped and precise and slightly stilted in a way that suggested he was only a hair's breadth away from becoming far less composed in expressing his displeasure. "Who no doubt _drugged_ last year's batch of Valentine's day candy in order to turn all of the boys in class A into mindless drones at her beck and call!"

"Only Kaito's was drugged!" Akako screeched, and from the way the boy that Chrestomanci had come to identify as Kuroba shifted his weight uneasily from foot to foot, that was more than likely his name as well. First, if the varying levels of familiarity with which the boy and the girl treated him with were any indication. "And it didn't even work." She finished unhappily, darting coy little looks at Kaito over Hakuba's head that Kaito pointedly ignored.

"Look." Chrestomanci interjected finally, a tad impatient. He wasn't some sort of camp counselor meant to sort out all of their issues for them, after all. "Did you need something from me or not? Because I was having a lovely stroll with my wife when you called and I'd like to get back to it sometime this century, you know, before the next ice age."

"Oh." Kuroba looked up at him them, surprise scrawled messily across his face and echoed faintly between his two companions as well. "Were you still here?"


	13. Bartimaeus Trilogy

**Series:** Bartimaeus Trilogy

**Pairings: **Akako/Kaito of the stalkerish variety, and tiny tiny allusion to maybe kinda sort Kaito/Aoko. Maybe. Or maybe Akako's just crazy.

**Warnings: **Djinn being used for rather nefarious purposes. And, uh, hormones.

**A/N: **Strangely, Kaito doesn't come in until the very end this time, but somehow I just couldn't get around the idea of Akako summon poor Barty. Also. Late late late, GAH!

* * *

**Not in the Job Description**

* * *

The situation regarding the typical age bracket that preferred to summon him had gotten so bad lately that Bartimaeus had begun to materialize on the mortal plane in the guise of an older gentleman, salt and pepper hair, dark, disapproving eyes under a furrowed brow and a thing, well trimmed mustache, arms crossed over his chest and leather patent shows tapping a sharp staccato on the chalked floor, the very epitome of a disgruntled fatherly figure. Most magicians who ever bothered with summons anyway all had major daddy issues, and particularly those that thought they were ready to summon someone of his power and prestige when they hadn't even managed to make it through puberty yet.

(Not for the first time, Bartimaeus cursed Nathanial for starting a trend – he wasn't a _babysitter_ and he was rather through with being treated like one, thank you very much.)

"Yes? What is it?" Bartimaeus rasped in a thin, reedy voice. He made a face and cleared his throat, pitching the tone down an octave with an "Ahem." It had actually been quite some time since his last term of service, but he didn't think the tremolo was particularly threatening to anyone over the age of seven. And if a _seven_ year old had managed to summon him this time than there really wasn't any reason for him to live. He took a moment from looking far too busy and important to even look at his summoner to, well, look at his summoner, to assure himself that this wasn't the case.

The scarlet haired beauty that stank of ritual didn't appear to be all that awed or astonished by his presence, which was a little insulting, but she looked to be the sort that would yawn in the face of a Afrit, so he tried not to take the slight too personally. She crossed her own arms haughtily over her chest and narrowed her eyes, tossing a length of hair over her shoulder like it was a mane of fire, opened her mouth and began to speak in Japanese (Huh. He didn't get a lot of summons in the orient, ordinarily). "There's a boy." She began. "About my age. Kuroba Kaito, he lives on the other side of town with his mother. I want you to go over there and—"

"Kill him?"

"NO!" She snapped, a wave of white hot anger sizzling through Bartimaeus' constructed bones and tendon and making him ache with it. "_You will not touch him_. If you do I'll make it so you can't even perform parlor tricks for the next poor fool that chooses to summon you. Do you understand me, Djinn?" She hissed sharply, and if her hair had been a head of snakes he would have been stone, her stare was that nasty.

Bartimaeus flickered moodily to his favored form, the adolescent Egyptian boy, and tucked his arms behind his head, rolling his eyes. "I got it, I got it, sheesh, no touching of the lover boy." And he took a small measure of glee from the way she stiffened indignantly at that. "Besides, with the way my masters have all been going, the next one's only going to _want_ parlor tricks." He said quietly to himself, before adding just loud enough for her to think that he'd meant for her not to hear it, "No one appreciates a good murder anymore." And was rewarded duly with the tiniest squawk of outrage. A little bit more and she'd be driven to step out of the protective circle simply to try and strangle him with her bare hands.

For some the inevitable downfall was fear, for others, wrath. The trick was always in figuring out which.

Bartimaeus was remarkably good at it.

The red haired witch took a deep, steadying breath. And then another, and another. When she finally spoke she had herself mostly under control, just the faintest of tremors beneath his vowels to indicate that she was anything other than completely collected. "I want you to go over there and show me what he's doing. Preferably without him knowing that you're there, though I don't expect miracles from someone with your reputation, so I won't punish you unduly if he does uncover your presence."

"Show you what he's… you want me to spy on him?" Bartimaeus exclaimed in disbelief. Of all the insulting – _parlor tricks_ were more challenging! "You've got a scrying mirror already!" He pointed out, even going so far as to physically point at the thing, set in the corner of her room, and anyone with eyes could tell that there was already a presence, a power, was already present in it, so it wasn't even that she needed a creature tied to it and was simply to dim to understand what kind of numbskulls one was supposed to summon for that sort of drudgery work. He was really beginning to grow tired of being underestimated like this. "I'm not a child's play thing, you know. You wouldn't use a chainsaw to cut a loose thread, would you – and just what do you mean by you 'don't expect miracles', what sort of Djinn has he got working for him then? A horde of Afrit to tie his shoes and do his laundry?"

The girl waited quietly until he'd ran out of steam, expression drawn and actually starting to look a bit bored by the end. "Are you done throwing a temper tantrum?" She asked, primly.

Bartimaeus felt suddenly and inexplicably young. "Maybe." He huffed, scuffing his feet on the floor and balling his hands into fists at his side.

"The mirror doesn't work on him anymore. Which is _why_ I said that I won't be too surprised if he notices your presence as well, but school's been out for a week now and he's hasn't called me – not that he ever did before – but Keiko told me he was at the park yesterday with Aoko and I… I just want to know what he's doing." She finished, her voice having quickly lost steam throughout the explanation and ending on the plaintive note of a lovesick little girl. And pouted.

He was pretty sure he was left gaping at the transformation, even as he flew out of there in the shape of a dove (he'd be able to get close, looking like that, she had claimed; he had lots of pet doves, and he fed even more, and was unlikely to spot one more). Hormones. Did crazy things to kids.

And doves? Were not nearly as peaceful as their image would have one believe, particularly when they believed that you were after their share of the feed.

"And do you see!" Bartimaeus declared tearfully. "Do you see what I've been reduced to? I used to fight great battles at the behest of my master, and now I'm being shoved around by filthy birds called… called…"

"Queen." Kuroba Kaito provided helpfully. "And she's not filthy."

Bartimaeus bit back a sob, burying his head in his hands, a small crying child with short, white blonde hair and milky blue eyes. "Not to mention I get caught out by a boy that doesn't have an ounce of proper magic in his fingers, I should just demote myself now to save anyone else the trouble of doing it for me!" He groaned miserably, curling into an even tighter ball.

Kaito patted him soothingly on the head. "There there, it's not that bad. Look, I'll talk to her, alright, get her to send you back home. Would you like that?"

"Kid." Bartimaeus said, snapping upright and face bright into Ptolemy's form, taking up Kaito's hand in both of his own and pumping it up and down energetically. "You're alright, you know that? Grade A, tip top, cream of the crop, and all those other empty platitudes that you humans always seem to be so fond of."

"Not really." Kaito sighed, standing and moving warily to the phone, glancing over his shoulder at Bartimaeus sitting cross-legged on his bedroom floor and pulling faces at Queen the dove, who kept pecking angrily at his hands any time he got too close. He began to dial, knowing that if he wanted to avoid another situation like this again, he was going to have to call this number more than just once this summer. "I just didn't want Akako to watch me changing." He muttered darkly under his breath.

Bartimaeus heard it just the same. He grinned. Kids.


	14. Good Omens

**Series:** Good Omens

**Pairings: **… nothing? I mean, besides Azi and Crowley's strange little friendship, but even that's pretty subsumed.

**Warnings: **Poor customer service. And, um, nothing else, unless you consider books or tea particularly deadly. Which, despite my firm and unwavering dislike of tea, I do not.

**A/N: **… and now I almost wish I'd thrown Kaito at Crowley instead, that could have been an interesting conversation. Set, er, before the book, because after the book there is every likelihood that Azi's bookstore would have actually had comic books, or at least a few more kid friendly ones. Hm. I'm probably one of those strange, stubborn people who would insist on becoming a customer, though maybe not for the types of books Azi kept before the failed apocalypse. Typo bibles? Not so much my thing.

**Concerning my deadline: **Yesterday's was late by literally a single minute. That sucks, but it's mostly on me. This one is nearly ten minutes late, but it's all FFN's fault, considering it _wasn't letting me upload_ for the past half hour. So, URGH. This better not be starting a pattern for me.

* * *

**Customer Service**

* * *

Aziraphale had been trying to get rid of the boy for the last two hours now with no luck. When he'd first strolled in, door bell ting-a-linging behind him, Aziraphale had considered it a simple matter; black baseball cap pulled down over strange violet eyes (contacts, no doubt, he'd heard from Crowley lately that children were beginning to wear them for cosmetic reasons now, rather than medical ones), black bomber jacket with a silly little pirate insignia on his left shoulder and hands stuffed casually into worn, faded jeans. Clearly, he had lost his way to the local arcade or records store. Clearly, he was simply stepping in to ask for directions. Because, clearly, Aziraphale had nothing that the boy would want.

He didn't sell _comic books_.

"I don't sell comic books." He informed the boy stiffly, looking down his nose at him over a stack of dusty old leather bound tomes, and watched with no small amount of pleasure as the boy sneezed fitfully when he opened the top most book to peruse at his leisure.

"Good." He said, smiling in that easy sort of way that Crowley had of addressing people that he had just taken something from – be it a parking space, a dinner reservation at the Ritz, or simply the will to live – and was in the middle of convincing them that they were really better off without it, truly, would I lie to you? "I don't read comic books." And then he sneezed, twice, rubbing at his nose and chuckling abashedly under his breath. He apologized ruefully. "Sorry. Allergies, I guess."

Aziraphale's heart sank. Or at least, it would have if he actually had one. As it was he silently despaired. This boy was going to be difficult to get rid of, he could tell. Some people were just bound and determined to be customers. Although they were usually quite a bit older, slightly deaf, and mostly senile.

No one ever bought any of his books to actually _read_ them, they were simply meant to look impressive on a bookshelf.

Aziraphale hustled over to an open accounting book on the other side of the desk that hadn't actually been used since the late eighteen hundreds and attempted to look busy. "We don't have any of those, those… Dusk books either. Or anything else even remotely popular. In fact, you probably haven't even heard of any of these books." He insisted, flipping testily through the crackling, yellowed pages of the logbook.

"Perfect." Was all the boy had said in return, and proceeded to disappear into the stacks for the next two hours.

More than once, Aziraphale found himself nearly forgetting the boy's presence in the shop, and each time he had contemplated closing up the shop and going round Crowley's place to see if he was up to an early luncheon, before the boy would sneeze, or set a book back on the shelves with a muffled thump and then he would remember. He had just begun to pour himself a cup of tea and settle himself down more fully to the book he had opened earlier in an attempt to dissuade the boy from looking around, and which had quickly caught his interest – Oh, he hadn't read this one in simply _ages_ – when the boy emerged from the stacks like a wandering crusader coming home, tired and disheveled and more than a little dusty.

He came straight up to Aziraphale. "Clearly you don't prescribe to the Dewey decimal system." The boy said wryly, resting his elbows on the tabletop and leaning into Aziraphale's space, grinning widely. "Or any system at all, really. So I figured I'd ask you directly and make both of our days a little bit better." Aziraphale wrinkled his nose and the boy clarified. "By me finding what I want, and getting out of your hair." He pulled a crumpled note out of his back pocket and slid it across the table.

Aziraphale read the title scrawled messily across the piece of paper. He hesitated.

"I asked around." The boy said casually, leaning back against the front desk and pulling out a small, hand held mirror and a handkerchief. He proceeded to scrub his face clean as he continued. "And people said, for strange, interesting or rare books this was the place to be. They also said that it was open at all manner of hours, that the inside was dank, musty and dismal, and that the owner was more likely to treat you like a trespasser than a customer. But the thing is, I _need_ this book. So much so that I'm willing to camp out here all day, to go through each and every book page by page if necessary until I find it. I'm only in Soho for a week. I'd like to see more than just the inside of this place. And I'm sure you'd much rather I did as well. So I'll tell you what. You find me this book, and I won't even try to buy it. Just give me a couple hours with it and then I'll give it back, good as new, and then you'll never have to see me again." He pulled the handkerchief away from his face and surveyed his handiwork before spiriting away both it and the mirror, thrusting his hand forward in offering and looking Aziraphale directly in the eye. "So what d'ya say? We have a deal?"

Aziraphale considered all the points of his argument thoroughly, eyeing his hand with no small amount of suspicion. "Fine." He said finally, shaking the boy's hand quickly before dropping it as if it were a snake. "I'll go pull up the book. And a chair, perhaps as well. I was just about to have some tea, would you care for a cup? Only, it's terribly rude to partake in front of someone without offering, and…"

"Thanks." He said softly, moving aside as Aziraphale came around the side of the desk and set off for the deepest regions of the shop.

"… was that a 'yes' to the tea?"

Crowley slithered in several hours later, observed the strangely cozy scene of Aziraphale and the boy – Kaito, he'd said, smiling, before asking what the A in A. Ziraphale stood for – sat down to tea and each with their very own book, heads bent down studiously over the texts and completely silent except for the turning of pages.

"Well." Crowley said bemusedly to himself, tilting his sunglasses down far enough to observe the strange teeter totter balance of good and bad deeds that the kid had going on over the darkened lenses before replacing them. "I always said he should start up a book club or something , but I never thought he'd do so with an international jewel thief." And then, with one more lingering look at the strange stiffness that had settled into the boy's shoulders at his comment, he helped himself to a cup of tea.


	15. Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency

**Series: **Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency*

**Pairings: **No. Just, no.

**Warnings: **A very much with the unknown series (though if you're a diehard Douglas Adams fan you should have heard of it) and very sketchy version of Dirk because it's been a very VERY long time since I read the series myself. The psychic bit had always stuck with me though. That and the fridge quandary anyway.

**A/N: ***With the tiniest reference to _A Long Dark Tea Time _as well. What can I say? I did love this series, even if I have only read it through entirely once. It's a bit harder to get into than Hitchhiker's Guide but well worth the struggle you may have had to put up with in the beginning once you get further in. Kind of like Michael Crichton and his science babble – I may only understand about half of it on a good day but that doesn't stop me from enjoying Jurassic Park or Timeline any less.

* * *

**Not Psychic**

* * *

"It's hard being psychic." Dirk Gently sighed ponderously into his drink, ignoring his guest with only the sort of steadfast self-absorption that Dirk had managed to cultivate for himself over the years. It had become a particular necessity after stumbling into the detective business; he had absolutely no interest in finding himself in the lead role of some noir film, and actually _caring_ about customers had an awful tendency of doing just that.

It did mean, of course, that friends were far and few between for him, as there was a very limited number of self-respecting people out there who would put up with him for long, and fewer still that Dirk was willing to associate with himself.

"You're not psychic." Kaito crooned, sliding the glass over in front of him and sniffing suspiciously at its contents. He wrinkled his nose, stood and carried it to the sink where he poured it all down the drain, addressing Dirk over his shoulder as he did. "Well, maybe a little bit. But not nearly enough to start throwing you pity parades. And it's barely eight in the morning, far too early to be drinking anything stronger than orange juice, particularly in front of such an impressionable youth."

Kaito was one of those people, though perhaps 'friend' wasn't quite the correct term for their relationship. Neither was in the habit of complimenting each other unnecessarily, or treating each other to anything more than a sharp and painful reality check.

And the age difference was certainly a problem. No, not a friend, no one had ever accused Dirk of such a thing. But perhaps…

"Mentor." Dirk grunted, eyeing Kaito (who was fiddling around with things in his kitchen cupboards now with all the ease of someone who wasn't used to being told no, or at least, wasn't used to actually listening when someone told him no) with no small amount of displeasure. In his mind, eight in the morning was far too early to do a lot of things, but Kaito had insisted on rousing him from his bed regardless, something to do with needing to catch a flight this afternoon and _if Thor's messing about with the airlines again and I miss my plane I am going to be very cross_, and Dirk rather thought he was more than deserving of something to warm him up as a reward for tolerating the manic little brat's presence in his home.

Kaito paused in whatever it was he had found to entertain himself with in there and turned his head to regard Dirk curiously, eyes wide and lips parted faintly in surprise. "What?"

"What what." Dirk responded grumpily, crossing his arms on the tabletop and burying his head in them like a sulking child. And it had been one of his better drafts, as well. Granted, his best was still barely one step above beggar's choice, but it was the principle of the matter, mostly. You did not come into a man's house uninvited and pour his booze down the sink in his own home. Come to think of it, you did not come into a man's house uninvited at all unless you were young, pretty and female, of which Kaito was only two of them by default, though he could fake the third well enough that the distinction had proven rather superfluous on more than one occasion.

It was a strange hobby to have, certainly, but Dirk was hardly going to begrudge the boy something he was so gifted at.

He poked his head up warily as the sound of a mug sliding across the poorly varnished wood in front of his face, and the sudden assaulting scent of rich Columbian roast. The ceramic mug sat innocuously steaming, inches from his nose. He inhaled deeply. "Coffee." He breathed, wrapping his hands reverently around the cup and brought it up to take a sip. The cup was half empty before he remembered why he hadn't made any for himself from the very beginning. "I'm out of coffee." He informed Kaito sternly as the boy took his own seat at the table. "Or at least I was. And if this is imaginary coffee I would like to think you would at least have the decency to tell me as much."

"I brought coffee." Kaito said, smiling and tapping out a small beat on the tabletop with his fingers, humming along with it in that disgustingly cheery manner of his that, coffee or not, seriously made Dirk want to punch the boy in the face sometimes.

Dirk clung even tighter to the chipped mug and grit his teeth against the sudden urge for violence. "I didn't hear the coffee grinder."

"It was instant."

"Ah." Dirk said, regarding his half finished cup of coffee forlornly before setting it back down on the table and pushing it away with the tip of one finger, heart aching. It was like saying goodbye to a very good friend. Except, Dirk didn't have any of those, so it was more like saying goodbye to a very good cup of coffee. Which it had so very nearly been. "I almost would have preferred imaginary."

Kaito shot him a deeply perplexed look before shrugging and claiming the cup for himself, making quick work of what was left. Dirk almost wanted to cry. He stood then, dropping the cup off at the sink along with all of the other dirty dishes and then moving to the far wall to pin up a large piece of paper, which turned out to be a map of the world, retreating back to the table to hand Dirk a single, red plumed dart.

Dirk held it out at arm's length like it would bit him. Considering some of the things Kaito liked to tinker with in his spare time it could very well be. "What's this for then?" He asked, though he wouldn't have been much of a detective if he didn't have his own very good idea on the matter.

"Throw the dart." Kaito prompted him simply, steepling his fingers in front of his face, poker face slated cleanly into place. "You must have heard the legend before now, right?" He said, barely waiting for Dirk to nod his head in assent. "Well you're my hope. And I've kept you sealed up in the bottom of that box for long enough. Now I've got to take the lid off and let you stretch your wings. I just want to see where those wings will take you."

He thought it over. "Not psychic." He warned Kaito finally, laboriously. His standard disclaimer.

"No." Kaito smiled, shaking his head. "You're not."

Dirk threw the dart.


	16. Night Watch

**Series: **Night Watch

**Pairings: **Death and Kaito? Nah, I'm joking. Uh, but you've got to admit, with Kaito's distinct lack of self preservation, they've likely got a pretty close relationship, nonetheless.

**Warnings: **sakfsdsajkf what? Shut up. I'm gonna get this up in time, I swear.

**A/N: **I loved the scene between Sam and young Nobby so painfully much. Nobby being my favorite member of the watch and, of course, my extreme weakness for time travel. Thinly constructed plotline, but so what, what's new. Also? Fifteen hundred dollars for a suit? Thank goodness I'm not a man.

* * *

**An Invested Interest**

* * *

The only thing that tipped Sam off that he was being followed – again – was that prickling feeling down the length of his spine that came from having been a watchman for as long as he'd been one. It wasn't Nobby this time; as inured as the man – boy – creature – whatever the heck Nobby was supposed to be (he still didn't buy all this human business of Nobby's, little piece of paper that said so or not, no matter what religion one chose to prescribe to – and in Ankh Morpork you certainly had your pick of them – no god was cruel enough to make any human look like _that_) was to the lifestyle, he had never quite mastered the art of subtlety. And his face had never helped the matter any either.

But this guy. This guy was good. Sam set off at a brisk trot as soon as he felt the eyes on him again, swerving around vendors and glum faced pedestrians for a good few blocks before coming to an abrupt halt, eyes sharp for any individual trailing him that might be exhibiting similar travel patterns. Nothing. Well, nothing beyond a minor traffic collision at his back and a bit of rather creative cursing to his face. He repeated the process several more times down several more streets until one particularly blustering young mother on errands threatened to stick a knife between his ribs if he didn't 'cut it out with that funny business, mister, and I mean right this instant'.

He rather had the idea that whoever was following him was laughing at him at that point.

Finally he just veered off into an abandoned side alley and stopped to wait at the entrance, arms folded casually across his chest and shoulders angled toward the wall, teeth bared in preparation for whoever was due to come around that corner. When the young boy strolled into view, hands in his pockets and eyes half lidded, humming the tune to a song that Sam had never heard before, he hadn't really struck Sam as the tailing sort, but then, the best so often didn't. Sam didn't relax his stance at all and, after a moment, the boy came up to him, smiling freely and bouncing on the balls of his feet, like he didn't know how to keep still.

"Hi." He said.

Sam didn't stop showing his teeth. "Hi." He said back. "Would you like to tell me why it is you're following me? Or maybe I should be asking who. And how much do I have to pay you to get you working for me as well."

The boy nodded, rolled his shoulders and bounced a bit higher. "I saw what you did there, it was nice. Real sweet."

"What." Sam scoffed, shuffling back the smallest step and trying not to pay too much mind to the fact that the boy countered him with two of his own. "The spoon? It wasn't much. I'm sure he's stolen enough of those on his own, he doesn't need my help starting a collection."

"No." He shook his head, smiling wider, softer. "Not the spoon. Don't really much get the point of one myself, it's just a smaller bowl attached to a handle, I prefer chopsticks, if you really care to know." And Sam didn't, really, because he didn't know this boy, wouldn't know him in the future either, and as such didn't feel the, the… responsibility, perhaps, that he felt towards Nobby. "I meant talking to him like he was a real person. I get the feeling he doesn't get that from a lot of people. And I don't think I can tell you who asked me to follow you, he doesn't really like his name getting out to the wrong people, at least, not before their time. I'm sure you understand."

"Not at all." Sam said, in his most painfully cordial voice. "Though I'm almost positive I'd rather anything of mine, name or otherwise, get out to him at all, so why don't we cut straight through all of the haggling and posturing and you just tell me what it is I need to give you to leave me alone?"

The boy hemmed, and hawed, played with the hem of his sleeve cuffs and tilted his head slightly to the left to regard the empty patch of air beside his right shoulder seriously. He hunched down, shoulders up high by his ears and sighed. "Oh, he's already got your name, Sir Sam Vimes, and so much more. That's not why I'm following you. And if it were possible for you to give me what he's promised me for my time, you wouldn't be stuck here, Sir, and I wouldn't need to be watching over you at all, so the entire premise is a bit silly to even comprehend." He stiffened momentarily, glared darkly over his shoulder before returning to give Sam an impressively beguiling smile, one that would soften all but the most cynical. Sam was surprised to find himself responding slightly to it anyway. "I'm on your side, Sir." He reassured. "You'd be surprised what a villain can do to be a hero, when he'd determined enough."

"I'm not surprised by many things anymore." Sam cautioned him warily.

The boy laughed. "I make a habit of challenging people's expectations." He said, taking a step backward toward the entrance of the alley, and then another. "Even my own." He stepped out into the sun and, with a flourish of his hands, he bowed low. And then in the blink of an eye he was gone.

YOU SHOULDN'T HAVE DONE THAT. Death told the boy solemnly as they both watched Sam shake himself and set off back onto the main street with a determined set to his shoulders. YOU SHOULDN'T EVEN BE HERE, AND YOU MOST CERTAINLY SHOULD NOT HAVE SPOKEN TO HIM.

"You knew how I operated when you asked me to do this." The boy said carelessly, stretching his legs out over the edge of the roof and swinging them in the air like a child sat on a low garden wall, rather than so very high off the ground. "He deserved to know that there wasn't a huge target painted across his back."

BUT THERE IS.

He wrinkled his nose. "Well, yeah, but it's not coming from me. And now he knows that. And that there's someone watching his back."

Death watched the boy kick his feet quietly for a moment before sitting down beside him. I HARDLY THINK HE'LL BE REASSURED BY A BRAT THAT TALKS TOO MUCH. YOU'RE TOO MUCH TROUBLE BY HALF, KUROBA KAITO. He declared, kicking his feet a bit experimentally, and then kicking them a bit more when he found he enjoyed the sensation. YOU AND THAT FOOLISH TENDENCY OF YOURS TO LEAP BEFORE YOU LOOK.

"Like you would have it any other way."


	17. Doctor Who

**Series: **Doctor Who

**Pairings: **Nada. Nothing.

**Warnings: **Snipers. Ehm… Kaito getting nekkid?

**A/N: **Doctor Who is awesome. Period.

* * *

**Bigger on the Inside**

* * *

The door slammed open suddenly, just inches from separating his nose clean from the rest of his face, and the Doctor found himself face to face with a young boy dressed all in white, top hat askew and monocle winking coyly over his right eye. He froze, as did the Doctor, titling precariously forward for a moment from the abrupt stop and clutching desperately at the door frame with gloved fingers until he had managed to regain his balance.

He stared.

"Ah, hello." The Doctor said, sliding the sonic screwdriver surruptiously up his sleeve and trying very hard to appear as if he hadn't just been in the process of breaking into what was no doubt a private event. "Curious getup you have there, is there some sort of costume party going o—" He was cut short by the very distinct crack of a gunshot ringing in his ears, and the boy whipped back sharply as if he'd just been slapped, falling a half a step back into the shadows of the unlit hallway. The tiny tinkering sound of broken glass followed.

The boy cursed softly under his breath, hand drifting up to touch the right side of his face before reaching out to snatch up the Doctor's hand in his own. He launched himself out from the door like an arrow with a shout, dragging the Doctor behind him. "Run!"

Feet pounding the pavement, the Doctor followed him around a corner and they plunged into the shadows and dark corners of the night, until the Doctor had the presence of mind to recognize where they were. "This way!" The Doctor told the boy, tightening his grip on the hand and throwing his whole body into the next turn, longer legs allowing him to quickly take the lead. He paused at an intersection for a moment to gather his bearings when another whip crack sounded and the brickwork of the building beside the boy's head exploded. The boy started giggling, a tad hysterically; the Doctor sympathized. "Guns." The Doctor huffed as they set off again. "How I hate guns." The boy's specter soft laughter was his only answer.

And then, finally, it was there ahead of him. His TARDIS. Brilliant and blue and oh so much more safe than anywhere that faceless shadows would be taking potshots at him. Thank goodness for keyless entry. He snapped his fingers as they drew closer and the door creaked obligingly open for him. "No." The boy breathed in his ear, fear turning the edges of the word ragged, and he fought to escape the Doctor's grip, digging his heels into the ground and forcing the Doctor to physically drag him the last few feet to his ship. His struggles increased the closer they got. "No! Idiot! What part of 'fish in a barrel' do you have a problem understanding?"

"I suppose why one would ever bother to put fish in a barrel in the first place." The Doctor confessed. They tumbled inside and the Doctor slammed the door shut behind them, leaving the boy kneeling on the grating to dash over to the controls, not caring where they went, so long as it was anywhere but here. Hey. That was a game he hadn't played in awhile.

Cautiously, the boy got to his feet.

"I know, I know." The Doctor said expansively, coming round the control tower and spreading his arms wide simply to prove that he could. "It's bigger on the inside. It's best if you get your shock out of the way now, I've found."

The boy gave him a mildly pitying look like he thought the man that had just saved his life was perhaps very desperate for praise (which he was, but that was hardly the point – they _always_ said it before, and it wasn't the Doctor's fault if this boy was harder to impress) and it was only now, in the light, that the Doctor noticed that his monocle was gone; a spider's web of very fine nicks and cuts taking its place all around the eye. There were similar scratches across one year and down the back of his neck, likely from that second shot. Both had already stopped bleeding, but the smear of dried and flaking red on his skin gave the macabre illusion of a child who had gone to a carnival to have his face painted. The Doctor bit back a shiver of distaste at the comparison.

After a moment of quiet contemplation of his surroundings the boy sighed, pulling the hat from his head and running a hand through his hair, disturbing already messy locks even further. Setting the hat at his feet and unhooking the cape from around his shoulders, with his hair mussed and eyes fever bright from the excitement of the night, he looked even younger.

He glanced around curiously, cape draped carefully over one arm, like a matador's. "Is there any place I can change?" He asked. "I want to make sure I didn't get any blood on my clothes, it's so hard to get out of white if you leave it for too long, you know."

"I…" The Doctor started, and then stopped, shook his head, and pointed out the wardrobe room. "Do you have a change of clothes? I might have something your size, if you don't." He offered, a bit thrown by how easily the boy had accepted the situation. It was enough to start to give a Time Lord a complex, to be honest.

The boy sent him an amused look over one shoulder as he began to shrug out of his clothes, fingers dancing over buttons and slipping out of his shoes with only the sort of ease that the Japanese had mastered through years of refusing to wear shoes inside. He hadn't even bothered to shut the door behind him, but from the way he continued to glance from the mirror and over one shoulder, the Doctor suspected it had less to do with having no real sense of propriety (though that was almost certainly an issue as well) than it did with keeping the Doctor in his sights. "I have clothes." Was all he said.

Not totally at ease, the Doctor amended to himself while the boy finished changing, gathering all of his things up and tying them into the cape in a makeshift carrier bag, which he slung over one shoulder. Just very good at hiding it.

"So." The boy said casually, hands stuffed in worn black jeans and face scrubbed clean, _leaning_ over the controls into the Doctor's space and smiling up at him in a strangely coquettish manner. "Besides being… bigger on the inside." He parroted back, mimicking the Doctor's exact tone and pitch perfectly on the last four words. "What exactly is this place? And who are you?"

The Doctor leaned away, just ever so slightly. "I'm the Doctor." He twittered, adjusting a knob that didn't need adjusting. "And this is my ship, my TARDIS."

"TARDIS?"

"It stands for Time And Relative Dimension In Space." The Doctor explained eagerly, always ready to talk more about his ship. "In other words, the TARDIS is a—"

"A time machine." The boy finished for him, entirely nonplussed. "And I suppose you mean 'the Doctor' as in just 'the Doctor', participle and all, no _actual_ name to follow." The Doctor barely had time to nod in agreement before he continued. "A bit arrogant, but then, my dad named me thief, so I can hardly speak."

The Doctor frowned. "It's not arrogant, why does everyone always say that? It's funny, don't you see, I say I'm the Doctor and it's always 'Doctor Who?' and then_ I_ say exa… thief? Did he really? That's a bit odd, isn't it, I mean, don't the Japanese ordinarily make a habit of picking names for their children full of well meaning wishes for their future and some such? Only, thief, that's not terribly well meaning, is it? Unless… this is the twenty first century, Japan, isn't it? I haven't skipped a couple millennia?" He asked worriedly.

A pleased sort of smirk quickly spread its way across the boy's face. "It's the twenty first century Doctor, don't worry." He said, showing his teeth in a distinctly predatory manner. "And I lied. My name's Kaito. It's got the kanji for constellation, not thief. Sounds the same, but different meanings. Although," He added thoughtfully, "I'm sure that was why dad chose it, regardless. He was a big fan of irony. And hiding in plain sight." His smile wavered slightly at the edges at the small confession.

"Irony?" The Doctor said cautiously, watching as the boy began to rustle around in his pockets, pulling out three brightly colored juggling balls and regarding them for a moment before tossing them carelessly over his shoulder. He stuck his hands back in again. Pulled out a bunch of linked metal circles. Flung them over his shoulder as well. Again. An intriguing detail in Japan's history tickled at the back of the Doctor's mind. "You mean that you're…"

Kaito grinned. "A thief? What did you think all of those searchlights and police cars out front were for?"

"A social function?" The Doctor squeaked.

He pulled out a long length of scarves, wrapping them around his neck a dozen times before running out of fabric. The splash of brightly clashing colors at his shoulders somehow suited him (and struck the Doctor as particularly nostalgic), smiling manically. "How many social functions have you gone to that ended in a sniper shootout?"

The Doctor's eyes were drawn inexorably to the cuts on the boy's face. "A few." He allowed. Kaito's hands fished around in his pockets one final time, emerging with a small, dark red gem about the size of his fist, glinting coyly in the light. He closed his fingers only to open them again a moment later. His hand was empty. Pandora was gone. "Kaitou Kid, huh?" The Doctor laughed to himself, leaning forward to flick at the scarves at Kaito's neck and smiling. "I suppose I should ask for your autograph. How did you fit all those things in your pockets anyway?"

Kaito grinned. "They're bigger on the inside."


	18. Pendragon Series

**Series: **Pendragon Series

**Pairings: **A smidge of Hakuba/Kaito, I guess? Just the boys being boys, really and, goodness, how I enjoy writing the two of them.

**Warnings: **Saint Dane. No, he doesn't even show, but he's such a creepy pedo freak that just saying his name is enough to warrant a warning in my book. Also, a vague description of Kaito's dad's death. I don't recall canon ever saying _exactly _how he died, except onstage, but some sort of explosion has always been a personal head canon favorite of mine, and burning adds to nicely to the description, I feel.

**A/N: **This is the Pendragon series by D.J. Machale, not of any sort of King Arthur novel, as I've already had to explain to one friend who'd never read the series before. And once I'm finished with this month's spate of oneshots I'll be willing to expand one or more of them into a full length story, so please check out the poll on my profile page to begin voting now for which series you'd most like to see continued!

* * *

**Tonto**

* * *

"… not Tonto."

Bobby stepped out of the door and straight into an argument. He stayed in the shadows for a moment, understandably wary considering his past travels and more than a little keen to avoid any confrontation so soon in a new world. There was also the smallest possibility that the two boys – one blonde and the other brunette – huddled close further down the dimly lit hallway weren't actually involved in the acolyte business either (neither looking particularly inclined towards battle, but then, Bobby wasn't exactly the Incredible Hulk himself, was he?), in which case it was wiser not to reveal himself quite yet. Instead he watched. And listened.

The taller, slightly more thickly built blonde boy had been speaking, chastising his companion in a low, flustered tone, and nudging him further along the passage with his shoulder as he spoke. "—onestly don't understand where you get all these ideas from, Kuroba, you shouldn't even _be_ here at all. It's not your…"

"Not my battle?" The brunette, slim and slippery, the way he danced out of the blonde's reach, walking backwards down the hall so he could keep a close eye on the other boy and his hands, which kept swiping out at him like a great big bear paw anytime he strayed too close, said mockingly, clearly disagreeing with the boy's assessment if the sharp, barking laughter that followed was any indication. "You don't get to tell me what is or isn't, Hakuba. Not after the way you _pushed_ at me all last year. If I don't get to keep secrets, neither do you." He added a tad petulantly, folding his arms across his chest before spreading them wide a half a beat later to keep the blonde – Hakuba, and you could always tell you were in a new world when the names were so strange, rolling off the tongue – from shoving past him in his distraction.

Hakuba stiffened at the comment, narrowing his eyes at Kuroba and baring his teeth in a silent snarl. He stopped walking, clenching the handle of a battered, nondescript looking black satchel tightly in one hand and poking the brunette in the chest – a violent, stabbing motion – with the other. "This wasn't my secret to tell!" He hissed, taking a single step forward to loom in the smaller boy's space, a move which Kuroba didn't back down from but, apparent from the way his hands fluttered fitfully at his side and he seamlessly rolled his weight to the balls of his feet, clearly made him nervous.

Bobby frowned. He'd never liked watching the bigger guys at school intimidate the other students, and even if the two had come down together it was obvious that they weren't all that fond of each other. A sudden, stinging pain in his palms forced him to look down, surprised to find his hands clenched into fists. He took a deep breath, relaxed his fingers, tried to calm down. _Save the fists for Saint Dane_, he told himself sternly.

Kuroba's teeth clicked together loudly as he snapped at Hakuba's prodding finger, angling his shoulders under and _up_ and forcing his own way into the confrontation, voice ragged and aching as he said "Neither. Was. Mine."

This time Hakuba took a step back. "What…"

"Twenty years, Hakuba." Kuroba raged, matching Hakuba's step and adding one more of his own. "Twenty years for a legend of immortality that I couldn't give one damn about. Twenty years of lies and blood and betrayal. Watching my father _burn_ onstage." Bobby gave a violent start at that, scrambling to his feet and wanting so very badly to say something, but finding his voice caught in his throat. Neither boy seemed to notice him. The brunette continued, voice so low Bobby had to strain to catch the rest of it. "And then you swan down here with barely two years of chasing my shadow, knowing nothing, and you think you have any right to deny me this?"

"But I do know." Hakuba sighed, running a hand through his hair in agitation and choosing to glare at the ground rather than his companion. "I know you. And I know I didn't want you caught in the middle."

Kuroba laughed, a softer sound this time. "It's already a bit late for that." He said wryly.

"Um." Bobby said, beginning to feel vastly uncomfortable at witnessing what was clearly a private moment between the two. One head whipped up and another turned, and both boys were staring at Bobby then, eyes wide and mouths slack (Kuroba's eyes glowed almost violet in the gloom, and gave the distinct impression of a cat's-eye glare), cheeks the faintest tinge of red at being caught bickering. "Sorry to interrupt, it's just… I'm Bobby." He finished lamely, scuffing a foot across the ground. "Are you two the acolytes for this world?"

Hakuba gathered himself together first, positioning himself in front of Kuroba and holding out the black bag in his hand in offering, smiling in an overly polite manner that gave Bobby the impression that he wasn't actually all that happy to see him. "I am, in any case." He confirmed, nodding back at the brunette in a dismissive gesture as he added. "Kuroba simply has no understanding of the concept of privacy or discretion."

Kuroba fluttered his eyes and blew him a kiss as though he had just been complimented rather than scorned. "I am not Tonto." He insisted once more, tugging on Hakuba's sleeve in an almost plaintive manner.

Bobby flipped open the top to the satchel to peruse its contents and was pleased to note that the style of dress on this world closely mirrored his own. He began to change, quickly, while the two boys were still distracted with each other, not all that willing to see if Kuroba's oddly flirtatious nature would apply to him as well – or at least, not while he was still half undressed.

"Of course not." Hakuba scoffed. "Tonto was more helpful than you'll ever be."

Kuroba snickered, bumped shoulders with Hakuba and then winked in an exaggerated manner in Bobby's direction, flashing him a quick, Cheshire grin as he knelt down to tie his shoes. "Whatever you say, Ganimard." He purred consolingly, and then danced out of the way of another swipe from the other boy, laughing wildly as he was pursued down the hall at a mad dash, all of the blonde's previous composure gone in the blink of an eye.

"I AM NOT GANIMARD!" Hakuba bellowed.

Bobby sighed long-sufferingly and set off after them at a steady lope. It was beginning to look like Saint Dane was going to be the least of his problems in this world.


	19. Life on Mars

**Series: **Life on Mars

**Pairings: **Er… kinda Hakuba/Kaito again? You know, in that sort of playground 'only I can pick on him' kind of way. Like the pigtail pulling phenomenon except with male posturing.

**Warnings: **A bit of talk about immigrants and the like, but considering Gene is in this piece, the _lack _of racism is rather astonishing. Hakuba being a grumpy mother bear protecting her/his baby cub Kaito.

**A/N: **Poll still up, please vote! Currently I've got six ties for first place and a REALLY don't plan on continuing so many just yet…

* * *

**Immigrant Song**

* * *

Sam stared at the young boy being held up in Gene's meaty paws (the ones that he called hands), feet dangling at least eight inches off the ground and grinning like a nutter, or one of those poor fools too soft in the head to understand the rights afforded to them even after you described them, nice and slow like, and with very small words. His cheeks were bruised, and his clothes dirty enough to be some sort of street waif, features small, compact, and bright blue eyes with just enough of a slant to suggest that he was an immigrant, or at least, that his parents were.

Pinching the bridge of his nose to try and stave off the coming migraine, Sam sincerely hoped that none of those bruises were Gene's handiwork; parents tended to get awful belligerent if they thought you were hitting their baby – immigrants especially, who tended to close ranks around their own out of necessity – and a good number of the Asian tongues flew fast and hard and didn't care one lick if you explained to them quite calmly that no one in the goddamned station spoke Chinese.

The kid, at least, seemed calm, completely content to hang from Gene's grip like a stuffed toy caught in one of those little claw machines, feet making little eddying motions in the air as he looked around the station, only the smallest twitch in his fingers, down by his thighs, to suggest that he was any sort of discomfort.

It was enough. "Guv." Sam sighed, trying to catch Gene's eye over the bird's nest that was the boy's hair, and stubbornly tamping down on the unease that blossomed in his gut at the way the kid's eyes zeroed in on him as he spoke – clever and assessing – even as he continued to smile like someone simple. Gene gave him a preemptory sneer, recognizing that tone of voice quite clearly. Sam matched him for it. "I don't care if you never got that dolly you wanted as a child, you can't keep him."

Gene's expression melted into one of confusion, but the boy snickered softly and spoke in a lilting, deceptively earnest voice, no hint of a native tongue in any of the vowels or consonants. "But _mo_-om." He whined, eyes glinting with good humor. "I'll feed him and clean up after him and take him on lots of walks."

Sam had to bite his lip very hard not to laugh.

"The hell I will." Gene growl, giving the boy a little shake to make his point. "And you can speak English? Why did you act like you couldn't before?" He shook him a bit more, clearly upset at being taken for, what he felt, was a ride.

"Course I can." The boy said mulishly, hunching into his shoulders as well as he could in his current position, which was not very much at all. "Speak French too. And I'm learning Welsh. But you didn't ask me if I spoke English, did you? Just grabbed me 'round the shoulders and shouted a bit in my face, like being big gives you a right to be a bully. Why should I tell you anything?"

"French?" Sam said, zeroing in on, of course, precisely the wrong thing. He didn't want to think about Gene roughing up a kid, knew the man was a brute and didn't like it any, but compared to what the man would have done a year ago Gene had been damn near gentle with the boy. Besides, the list had intrigued Sam, and if he could get the kid talking about something trivial like this there was a chance he'd trust Sam well enough to talk about whatever it was that lead to Gene dragging him into the station in the first place as well. "Do a lot of traveling, do you?" He asked.

The boy gave him a distinctly suspicious look, clearly not buying the good cop bad cop routine, but after a moment he bowed his head just _so_ and offered, "My dad did."

"Did?"

The kid rolled his eyes and squirmed a bit in Gene's hold, pointedly not looking at either of them now when he spoke, tone slightly bitter. "Well, yeah. It's kinda hard to continue traveling after you're dead. Unless you believe in astral projection or something."

"And you'd know all about dead things, wouldn't you?" Gene blustered, shoving his way back into the center of the conversation and shooting a look as Sam that read as 'if you start blubbering for the brat, Dorothy, I'll send you to go work with the plods where you belong!' or at least, something similar. It was only one look, after all. "Seeing as how I found you one street over from the crime scene looking as if you'd just gone one-two with a car."

"That's because I _did_, you big jerk." He grumbled testily, and winced when Gene's fingers tightened their grip on his shoulders at the insult. "Gah! Watch it you thug! I need these arms and I'd much rather you didn't tear them off trying to prove yourself the alpha male over a seventeen year old kid who's just been ran over by a car! _Some_one's watched a bit too much of The Sweeny." He added snidely, turning his head and talking into his shoulder.

Sam heard it anyway. He went cold.

It being 1973 and still two years before The Sweeny would even begin airing, Gene didn't get the reference. He turned the boy around in his hands and snarled in his face. "If you were doin' naught wrong then why did you try to run when I roused you, boy?"

"Anyone would try to run if they woke up with your ugly mug looming over them you bas—"

"Kuroba."

Sam and Gene whipped around (the boy's head swiveling when the rest of him couldn't) at the sudden inclusion of a new voice, a clipped, prim and proper like one of those desk flyers from the Met, who liked to pretend that their job was important even when they couldn't be trusted to hold a gun without shooting their own foot out. And the boy standing in front of them could very well have been one of those men, ten years down the road, except there was an element of poised, quiet, sparking anger in his eyes that suggested he knew all too well which end of the gun was the dangerous one and wouldn't hesitate to point it at _you_ if he thought it would get the job done. He was sneering slightly at his surroundings, arms crossed over his chest and foot tapping in a vaguely impatient manner, but he wasn't looking at either Sam or Gene, but right at the boy between them.

The boy's face split into a wide grin. "'Kuba!" He barked, all pleased tones, like a dog wagging his tail, wriggling out of Gene's grip with an ease that implied he could have done so at any time before now with no trouble and bounding over to the new boy to throw his arms around his shoulders, babbling all the while. "You came for me! Is this The Great Escape? Do I get to be Steve McQueen? I could borrow Suzuki-san's motorcycle. Only, I wanted to pull a heist while I was in jail, wouldn't that have been fantastic, 'Kuba? Ooh! Did you bring your pocket watch? Can I steal that instead? Did you…"

"Kuroba." The boy's voice wasn't loud, or particularly all that stern, but Kuroba stilled, inclined his head respectfully and allowed the other boy to speak. He turned to address Gene. "If you have not already seen fit to charge him with being a nuisance, I will assume that you were not planning to charge him at all. In which case, you have nothing to keep him here except for a dismal lack common sense which, regrettably, is not actually against the law. And so we'll be going, and I _won't_ be charging you with battery – this time – because, goodness knows that I've wanted to rough up the idiot once or twice, but if you touch him again…" He paused for effect. And to swat away Kuroba's fingers, which were digging into his sides, leaning in to hiss something in the taller boy's ear that Sam couldn't quite catch. "If you touch him again, you will wish very much that you hadn't." And then he turned to leave.

Gene was left grasping at air.


	20. Alice

**Series: **Alice (SyFy)

**Pairings: **Clearly, I have problems, if I have to keep saying what pairings _aren't_ actually present in each story. No, Mad March/Kaito was not the point of this piece. No, just… no. The man has a bunny head when he gets resurrected. _A cookie jar bunny head._

**Warnings: **The whole issue of the "oysters" in Wonderland being something like slaves, I guess, not people. And, er, I think the tea should probably count as drug paraphernalia, don't you? Some casual talk of murder and a lot of blatant head canon at work here because, uh, well, according the SyFy Mad March and Hatter didn't know each other before the show started, which I absolutely just refuse to believe.

**A/N: **Have I said lately how big of a nut I am for Alice in Wonderland adaptations? And for the Mad Hatter and March Hare in particular. Do I need to say it again? This is set pre-series, before Mad March was killed by the queen for displeasing her (lalalala, why ever would you think that Kaito was responsible for this?) and while Hatter was still just content to sit in his tea house and sneak provisions to the rebels. And, mm, _maybe_ Kaito's little flavor of tea has something to do with his deciding to make a change later on, when Alice arrives? Maybe?

* * *

**Dud**

* * *

Not for the first time, Hatter stared at Mad March like he was just as crazy as his nickname suggested (which he was, but it had always been the kind of crazy before that Hatter could really _get_ behind). "You want to do _what_?" He said.

March scratched behind his left ear and shrugged, reaching up with his other hand to loosen the tie at his neck – a strange, nauseating swirl of purple, green, and orange that Hatter had never seen the assassin wear before – and slapping the hand away that tried to help him when he fumbled with the knot.

"I wanna take the kid back home." March repeated slowly, his gruff, Mafioso attitude bleeding through in the petulance of his vowels. He slapped away the hands once more, frowning. "Keeps wakin' up on the casino floor, no matter what they dose him wit', and unstickin' his feet somehow. And then he pokes at the other oysters until they start to rouse too. Plus his emotions are a total dud. Kept comin' out all watered down and smoky, Carpenter said, like he ain't got too clear of an idea what they're supposed to feel like either. Kid's nothin' but trouble—you _ain't_ my _ma_, brat, touch this tie again and it'll be 'round your own neck in a hangman's noose!" He snarled as the kid in question tried once more to help March with his tie.

The kid pouted and then stuck his tongue out at March – "rip that tongue right outta yer skull" March promised, and the tongue disappeared back into his mouth in a flash – crossing his arms over his chest and settling into a sulk. "Shouldn't wear a tie if you can't even loosen it without making a mess of the thing." He muttered mutinously into his collar, but when March shot him another dark look and raised one hand in warning he was suddenly oozing charm, smile starbright and eyes slitted strangely, and Hatter'd never seen an oyster with eyes like that before, but then, he'd never seen _any_one mouth off to Marchie like that either, so clearly the boy was crazier than either of their namesakes.

"Used to be," Hatter said slowly, rolling over in his chair to inspect the stock and see if March had sampled any of his Kindness lately (because usually it was Hatter holding his hands up in surrender – right hand poised to make a fist – and pasting on that old snake oil salesman smile, asking if there wasn't some sort of mutually beneficial agreement they couldn't come to, but when the best Marchie could hope to get from springing an oyster was a very good excuse to never have to wear a necktie again, Hatter kept his damn mouth shut and didn't look any of them in the eye, because if he didn't, they weren't people; just rows and rows of pretty colored bottles) but aside from the Dreaming draughts he regularly slipped Dormy – who was an alright sort, but always had been keen to follow authority back in school and, as such, couldn't be trusted – to keep him from looking too closely at the house accounts, none of them were empty. "When someone was trouble, you didn't hold their hand and walk them back home, you just killed them."

"Used to be," March shot back snidely, right hand rising to rest in an almost gently manner on the boy's shoulder. "You weren't too keen on the killin' yerself. Davie." He added a moment later, a low blow.

The kid blinked slowly, glancing between the two of them with his eyes wide. "I thought his name was Hatter." He said, curious, and then smiled wide when Hatter turned to glare at him, baring his teeth in exactly the same sort of predatory gleam that Hatter had seen a hundred times on Marchie's face. And, well now, maybe that's what all this is about…

"And I thought yer name was Kaito, but you don't see me callin' you that, do you? Kid." March told him, rolling his eyes and pointedly ignoring the sudden, searing looks Hatter started giving him.

"Actually." Kaito-the-oyster droned, pushing a lock of hair from his face and eyeing that necktie again like the sight of a half undone knot drove him crazy, even when his own dress was so casually sloppy; March cuffed him lightly upside the head when he caught him staring. The boy winced dramatically, and March smacked him harder. This time the wince was genuine. "Kid is technically my name too. Or my nom de plume, anyway. Honestly." He chuckled slightly, under his breath. "People shouted it at me back home so often I think I'm starting to feel all nostalgic now. Do you think you could wave your fist in the air and shout, 'I'll get you next time Kid!'?"

"Wave_ somethin' _in the air." March muttered darkly, but he made no move to strike the boy again.

This was bad, Hatter knew, dread settling in his stomach like an old friend. A March who didn't speak with his fists first was a March who was going to make waves. And waves in Wonderland almost always ended in people losing their heads. Especially the wave maker. "March." Hatter cautioned lowly, catching his old friend's eye and holding it, begging him to see reason. "You can't just… _take_ an oyster back home because you took a liking to him. It doesn't work like that. It doesn't matter if he's causing a ruckus on the casino floor, or that his emotions are bad stock, the queen doesn't see that. And the queen doesn't care." He leaned forward across the desk, voice dropping even lower and eyes, darting to the door to make sure no one was coming in, even though he'd warned against visitors (no one dared, really, except for Rat, and that was only because the man was an idiot). "All she cares about is one less oyster making one less drop of tea."

"'m not afraid of the queen." March said baldly, and started fishing around for something in his jacket pocket, elbowing Kaito once in the side of the head when he tried to take advantage of March's distraction to pounce at the tie.

"It's not the queen you have to be afraid of." Hatter said wearily, knowing that March had made his decision long before he'd stepped in the office. "But the executioner's blade."

March plunked down a small, stoppered glass full of a shimmering, pearlescent liquid on the desk, staring Hatter down over the table top and nudging it stubbornly toward him until Hatter gave in and pulled the glass close to examine it with the discerning eye of a connoisseur.

"What's this?" He asked, when he couldn't find any sort of label or match the shade with any of the teas currently out on the market.

March stood then, pulling the boy to his feet by his elbow and began to pick his way over to the door, leading the boy along by the grip on his arm. "Kid wasn't totally empty." He shot over one shoulder as Hatter unstoppered the bottle with a muted _plunk_. "They managed to pull this one outta him before I took him out of there. Real potent stuff, none of the other oysters had it." His hand was on the doorknob. He smiled thinly. "Go ahead, Davie, take a sip, real addictive stuff, heady. You'll be a new man." He opened the door, pushed the oyster through first.

Hatter took a cautionary sniff. "What's it called?" He said, even as he took a small, small sip.

"Self-sacrifice." March said, and closed the door behind him.


	21. Tin Man

**Series: **Tin Man

**Pairings: **Hakuaba/Kaito if you want to see it, but there's no smoochies.

**Warnings: **Many, many vague or semi-vague allusions to other forms of media. Seriously. If someone can name all of them then they probably deserve some sort of reward, because I can reference some really obscure things sometimes. Also, a bit of amateur brain science, courtesy of my psychology classes.

**A/N: **Poll still running! Tin Man, in my mind, had a lot of problems with it, the least of which being the script. But it was still enjoyable and Glitch was absolutely my favorite character. Sheesh, I'm tired. There's, what, six more left to go?

* * *

**Second Star to the Right (and Straight on 'til Morning)**

* * *

Kaito was humming that song again.

It wasn't any song that Glitch had heard before the boy and his companion had stumbled into the O.Z. (and no one's told him the full story of how _that_ happened yet, but Cain was just about ready to toss the both of them off a cliff and be done with them by the time he handed them off to Glitch – to see if he couldn't find a way to get them back home – that he was sure it was a real doozy of a tale) and Kaito only ever sung snatches of words to it, and never more than two in a row before trailing back off into a melodic hum, but the beat was catchy and fun; he thought it had something to do with brains.

"Kuroba, if you do not cease in that incessant humming immediately you will need more than a brain from the wizard when I'm through with you." Hakuba – that blonde boy that came with him, all stiff and polite and sorta reminding Glitch of Cain, except he didn't seem to know how to dress himself – grumbled, lunging for Kaito across the work table and crumpling several half finished blueprints and plans that Glitch had been working on. Kaito squawked and ducked behind Glitch, clinging to his back and peering over his shoulder with wide, violet eyes.

Glitch fussed over the papers worriedly. His memory was still pretty bad, and there was no telling what he would or wouldn't remember on any given day, and some of those projects were important to the reconstruction of the O.Z.. Or, at least, that was what D.G. had told him.

Kaito watched him quietly for a moment, content simply to use him as a shield from his easily excitable friend, and Glitch didn't mind; he'd been used for much worse before. And every now and then Kaito would make small suggestions that really were awful clever (a mind for invention, that boy had). "I don't get it." Kaito said softly after awhile, breath tickling Glitch's ear. Hakuba was watching him with narrowed eyes, but so long as he felt like Kaito was behaving, he didn't say much. Culture shock, Kaito had called it, right before Hakuba stomped sharply on his foot.

"Get what-what-what-wha—?" Glitch said, shaking his head slightly when he began to repeat himself.

"The brain thing." Kaito said, sounding a bit put out by the whole thing. "I mean, I'm no expert, but I don't think it's supposed to work like that. Half of your body simply shouldn't work when you're missing half of your brain."

Hakuba lifted his head dozily from where it had been resting on his hand as he watched the two of them work to catch Kaito's eye, saying, "Epilepsy patients."

Kaito made a small noise in the back of his throat. Rested his chin on Glitch's shoulder. "Well, yeah. Okay. But you're thinking of cases that were still young. Children. There's still a… whassit. Elasticity to the brain functions. So that one side can eventually adjust to take on the other side's duties as well." He waved his hands about as he spoke, as if to make a point. "Glitchy here is too old—"

"_Hey_." Glitch protested weakly. So he wasn't exactly as young as he used to be. That didn't mean he was _old_, did it? Wait…

"_And_." Kaito pushed on, ignoring Glitch's little interjection. "Memory is stored all over. There was no promising that the procedures they needed to run the machine would have all been stored in that side of the brain." He huffed, and Hakuba echoed him a moment later. "It's just… it's weird science, man. And if the science is weird things have a tendency of blowing up in your face."

Hakuba lolled to one side, tilting precariously. Apparently, neither had slept since they'd arrived. Glitch scribbled a note to himself so he'd remember to find them a room a little bit later so they could both rest; they couldn't do anything until the next storm front moved in anyway, and Glitch hated to see sleepy children. It was his fourth most dislikable thing on a list of very dislikable things. …or was it the sixth? "Either that or 'the perfect woman'." Hakuba said, putting air quotes around the last three words and voice almost painfully wry.

"I really should be surprised that you've seen that movie, 'Kuba." Kaito said, voice a pleased little tremolo and eyes very likely hooded, like they'd been the first time Glitch had complimented him on… on. On whatever it was Glitch had complimented him on that time. "Only, you really are a great big dork."

"And what does that say about _you_, Kuroba, that you know what I'm talking about?" Hakuba snapped back tetchily.

Kaito laughed, sharp, quick, and bright. "I know _every_thing, Hakuba." He purred. "Including that thing you do before each heist when you think that you're—"

"KUROBA!"

Glitch frowned. "I don't usually make a habit of understanding what most people are talking about, you know-know. But with you two I…" He trailed off, unsure what it was he had been talking about. "Oh!" He said, noticing the two boys staring expectantly at him – one on either side of the room – and he smiled. "You two are the ones Cain brought by, right? The ones far from home?" They both nodded, slowly, the blonde one gaping ever so slightly and the darker haired one biting at his bottom lip. "Not to worry, not to worry, I'll get you home quick enough!" He promised. "It's just a simple matter of reconstructing the situation that led to the two of you landing in the O.Z. in the first place, and then reversing it."

The dark haired one – Kaito, wasn't it? A nice name, no doubt, even if it was a bit strange – snickered softly, a strange glint in his eyes. "Second star to the right?" He asked, tone light and whimsical, soft and innocent, like a child's.

Hakuba, the blonde, expression slightly twisted, as if he was trying very very hard to keep a straight face, rumbled pleasantly, "And straight on 'til morning."

Both dissolved into helpless laughter.

"I don't get it." Glitch sighed.


	22. A Dirty Job

**Series: **A Dirty Job

**Pairings: **I assume that Charlie is still with Lauren, but she doesn't show up any. And, hm, a little girl crush from Sophie to Kaito?

**Warnings: **Considering the whole job description for a reaper in this book, the subject of death is pretty unavoidable. Kaito and his makeup kit again. A father's devotion to his deadly little daughter. Dead babysitters – the kitty thing was probably my favorite part of the whole book, so I really couldn't resist putting something about it in here.

**A/N: **Taking some place after the end of the book, presumably after Lauren managed to find Charlie a new body that _wasn't_ a lizard hybrid thing. The concept of reapers in the book is this – there are many. They are required to collect 'soul items' (items important to the dead that carry the imprint of their soul) and pass them on to a new person who is supposed to help the soul ascend a bit more before their own death. And so on. It's usually a natural process, but I figure Kaito would probably be a bit more forward about the whole thing. Adapted a small bit of dialogue from a movie for my own use – if anyone thinks they know which movie, feel free to guess. Poll still up!

* * *

**Employee of the Month**

* * *

"All that I'm saying," Minty insisted, leaning forward on his elbows to look Charlie straight in the eyes (because he knew how uncomfortable that made the other man) as he spoke, tone even and low. "is that, being the father of the Luminatus, you should be able to do something about the kid."

Charlie squirmed self consciously in his chair, peering past the other reaper's shoulder to check on his daughter and the kid in question, playing quietly in the other room; both has an awful tendency of wandering in on the middle of private conversations – grown up talk, Charlie called it, and Sophie always made a face at that and trudged into the front room to play dolls, looking as if it were the biggest hardship for her, but that never meant that she would necessarily _stay_ there either – and a skill at sneaking places they shouldn't be that had only increased with exposure to each other. Neither looked like they were in any hurry to leave their elaborate game of dress up though. "Do what, exactly?" Charlie whispered back. "Kaito's not doing anything wrong." He snuck another, hasty glance at the two and momentarily reconsidered his last words. No seventeen year old boy should own that much makeup without being considered a deviant, really.

But Sophie liked him.

"Sophie likes him." Charlie told Minty, before the man could get started on some new tirade and intimidate Charlie into forgetting his stance on this thing entirely. "He's good with her and even if… even if the makeup thing's a little. A little strange. But it's just another lifestyle choice, isn't it?" He asked, trying to justify the whole thing to himself as well. Charlie didn't cope too well with _different_. "I mean, you're…" He trailed off, gesturing helplessly at Minty in a desperate bid for nonverbal communication.

Minty raised a single eyebrow at him in response, tight lipped and intimidating in his silence. His fingers drummed a pounding rhythm on the dining table.

Charlie felt his shoulders rise to meet his ears, tucking his chin to his chest and staring down at his hands clenched tightly together in his lap. "And he hasn't died _once_, even after Sophie started calling him Kitty because she couldn't pronounce his name – do you know how many babysitters I lost that way before he offered to look after her? Twelve! Besides." He took a deep breath, tried to calm himself. "He's one of the best reapers in the country. Hasn't missed a single target and always knows who the soul needs to go to after. His turnover rate is incredible. Kaito's good at this job." He murmured, perhaps reminded of his own failures in that area.

"Exactly!" Minty declared, pounding the table with his fist in his fervor. "He's making us all look bad, Charlie. You've gotta get rid of him."

"I can't just… make people disappear." Charlie said, horrified by the very suggestion.

"Sure you can." Kaito said suddenly from his shoulder, and Charlie tumbled from his chair with a – manful – shriek and a flurry of limbs. Smiling in that easy way he had (even when he walked in on the middle of a discussion concerning his demise), Kaito offered him a hand up, frosty pink lip gloss and sparkly blue eye shadow smeared across each eyelid. He'd let Sophie attack his hair with a flurry of hair clips and a number of bright, noisy bangles adorned the wrist of his proffered hand. Charlie accepted the help without any sort of hesitation and eased himself back into his chair; anyone he could trust his daughter with… well. Like he'd told Minty: Kaito was good with Sophie, and nothing else mattered much in comparison. Kaito patted his shoulder and flashed another sharp grin in Minty's direction – like the snapping teeth of that pet turtle that had barely lasted Sophie a week – and the tall reaper flinched back slightly at the gesture. "But you wouldn't, Charlie, and that's what I like about you."

Minty shifted mutinously in his seat. He didn't like feeling cowed by someone half his age. Charlie might have commiserated with him on the matter, but he wasn't too happy with what Minty had seemed to be suggesting a few minutes ago, and he was plenty used to being cowed by anything and everything that it rather seemed like business as usual for him, really.

Of course, Kaito was one of the few people Charlie _didn't_ feel intimidated by, on any given day. "Sophie's using the restroom." Kaito informed him before he could even think to ask where she was (as she was almost always on his heels these days, in the midst of what Jane had eagerly informed him was his daughter's very first crush), laughing gleefully as he added, "She informed me quite primly that she didn't require an escort and that I could go play with the other boys until she was done. So what d'ya say, Minty? Want a makeover?" He asked, eyes glinting playfully, earlier slight seemingly forgotten.

"I'm not—" Minty began, glaring darkly at the both of them, which might have had something to do with the grin that Charlie had own his own face to match Kaito's.

It was Charlie's turn to lean over the table, into Minty's space. He could feel Kaito, unmoving at his back. "He really is good, you know." Charlie said in earnest. "Like one of those professionals. The ones that make monster masks and turn twenty year olds into eighty year olds."

Minty looked confused. "Why would you want to… what's the point in being able to do something like that besides charming five year old little girls?" He asked.

Kaito had that look in his eyes again. The one that Charlie was pretty sure he'd had himself when he'd taken on those sewer bitches with a round of fireworks, or the one he'd gotten shortly after getting his old body back. It was pleased and manic and slightly unhinged, also, triumphant. He was practically _thrumming_. "Being a reaper may be my day job, Minty, but my night job is _much_ more profitable."


	23. American Gods

**Series: **American Gods

**Pairings: **Kaito/Aoko in that terribly canon way that we all (hopefully) expect him to get married to her in the end. Only, um, not _actually_, because they're still in school at this point, and she doesn't even actually show up in this fic at all. But Kaito does mention eventually proposing to her at some point in the future so… yes. It counts.

**Warnings: **A very unique, interpretive take on gods and religions, inspired from the way the book itself handles it. And mentions of the typical danger that Kaito faces at each heist from his favorite little sniper.

**A/N: **This one was hard to me to begin, because I'm not actually all that big on religion in practice. The theory behind religion, particularly organized ones, fascinate me, but a lot of the terminology escapes me out of sheer unfamiliarity. I'm all for belief (I'll believe anything) but it's the rituals prescribed to belief that I'm not so sure on. I suppose this is one of the reasons that American Gods is one of my favorite books. Poll still going!

* * *

**Belief**

* * *

Tokyo, Japan.

The thing about gods, Shadow had found in his travels, was that, in the end, all you really needed to become one was belief.

And if there was one thing that the phantom thief Kid had in abundance – when the night was long and the moon was full, and the interminable battle between good and bad was stripped down to its most primal level, white versus black – it was belief. Each night, Kid made a mockery of gravity, danced with the stars and scoffed at the barrage of bullets that seemed to trail behind him like a comet's tail, with a twinkle in his eye and a good humor that rivaled even Mr. Nancy's.

Kid inspired wonder in the masses that turned up to each heist (his very own hall of worship, in the pulse and heat of the crowd, in the persistent buzz of Dame Media, sharing his name with the world in return for burgeoning her own collection of followers, eager, as they were, for any small morsel of information about the enigmatic thief that they could glean from each frenzied report) and an unwavering devotion in the multiplicity of detectives that regularly clawed and bit and snarled and fought each other for the honor to be the one at the end of the night to face the phantom child across the display case; the very same detectives that turned into veritable _beasts_ of old – gorgons and minotaurs and hydras, in their demeanor and the bristling, bubbling, burning intensity of their vengeance – whenever the men of the shadows threatened to cut their hero down, to douse his shining bright beacon in the night.

For such a steadfastly _merciful_ god, Kid had the ability to inspire an awful lot of hate, on both sides of the coin. This was the power inherent in a god that had risen fast and risen far, blazing like a firework in the sky in his intensity, and though he'd only grown brighter since, gods like that, Shadow also knew, with a familiarity that was still painful to dwell too deeply on, had a tendency to sizzle out like the very flame they emulated. And when that happened, there would be nothing to stop Kid's freefall except for the unforgiving ground at the end.

Which was precisely why Shadow set out to speak with this young new god, to warn him.

He had no self delusions; Kid was wily and quick, harder to catch than a shadow, and had been evading men with far more and determination than Shadow for years now. But he was also sharp. He had an ear to the ground that suggested he spent almost as much time with the swarm of worshipers as he did among the clouds, and Shadow knew he would hear of Shadow's inquiries, would, perhaps, even_ be_ one of the nameless, faceless enthusiasts that Shadow spoke to in the aftermath of each heist (his skill and delight in changing faces like one might a hat well known, a changeling god with a taste for high heels and short skirts) and he would, in time, seek Shadow out himself.

Kid adored his fans almost as dearly as they did him, and once he had ascertained that Shadow had no ties to the villains or the heroes of the story, was merely a wandering samurai, a… ronin, he thought they were called in this country, he _would_ seek to hold a court with Shadow, in his own time.

A Shadow was right.

"Shadow." Kid purred from the dark, angry mouth of an alleyway, rolling the sounds around in his mouth like he was tasting them, voice slightly higher than Shadow would have assumed, but then, this god was young, and the slight tenor would likely lend itself easily to any shaping that the boy creature might require for his next persona. There was something lulling and almost melodic in the tones that spoke of youth and impetuousness, and it fit all that Kid stood for as seamlessly as the white gloves he wore on each hand. "That's a nice name, Shadow. Direct. To the point. Like 'white horse' or 'black feathers'. I like names like that."

Shadow made no move to approach him. If Kid had chosen that position to confront Shadow from, then that was the one he was comfortable with. He knew better than to challenge that. And he kept his hands out, where Kid could see them. "It's not my given name." Shadow admitted, always one for honesty, when he could afford it.

There was a small, quick flash of white in the darkness that Shadow assumed could have been Kid smiling, and a low, pleasant chuckle. "I know." Kid said, clearly amused. "But it's the name you use, and that makes it the only name that really matters, in the end."

"Not everyone would agree with you on that." Shadow pointed out, remembering the trouble that his given name had brought him in the past.

"People are free to believe in whatever they like." Kid said in a sly little voice. "Far be it for me to deny them that much, but belief is hardly truth, and truth is almost entirely subjective anyway. Shadow _is_ a good name, regardless. Firm. Brief. Straight to the point. It's clear that you, at least, know who you are. I like that in a person. So. _Shadow_. What was it that you wanted to speak to me about?"

"Well. That, I suppose." Shadow began, carefully choosing his words even as he continued to reaffirm his opinion of the trickster god. He had already genuinely approved of what the god was, what he stood for, but now he was beginning to appreciate Kid for _who_ he was as well; he had a nice grasp of reality and the human condition that endeared him to Shadow and now, more than ever, Shadow wanted this one to survive the ages, one way or another. Learning from the past was the best way to assure this. "Belief, I mean. And how fleeting it can be, even when the worship and the fervor are strong, and it feels like it's never going to die out. I've seen it happen before. With bigger and older gods than you. And I just wanted to… prepare you for the inevitable, I guess."

Kid made a small, confused noise in the back of his throat. "Belief? Gods? What are you talking about?"

"I know, alright?" Shadow said. "I've played chauffer to the old ones and walked behind the scenes, sat at a parlay with the new ones and served as a blood sacrifice, had my heart weighed against a feather. I know, and I know what can become of a god who loses their believers. And I don't want that to happen to you. You're good for the people, but you'll only hold their attention for so long before they turn to new and better things, and then what will you do?"

He made another sound now, closer to a laugh this time, and took a single, shuffling step into the light, features almost painfully young without the fluid grace of the shadows to mask him, and there was something undeniably _human_ in the shape of his smile. "Finish high school, I assume." He said playfully. "Maybe go to college, I'm not too sure yet; mom wants me to, but I have no idea what I would study. Get a job. Ask Aoko to marry me. What else would you have me do?"

"Your _mom_ wants you to… you're not…?" Shadow trailed off uncertainly.

Kid shook his head, took another step forward and stared up at Shadow from under the brim of his top hat, every inch a child appealing to the only adult present, and now there was almost something sinister about confronting the boy in the dark like this, even if Kid had been the one to choose the time and locale. "It's awful flattering of you to call me a god, Shadow." Kid crooned sweetly. "But I'm just a boy. I had a dad and I have a mom, and a childhood friend that I drive crazy every opportunity that I can get."

Shadow tried to gather his thoughts, speaking out loud as he did. "Then the effortless way you evade the police and the bullets…?"

A careless shrug. "Eight year of gymnastics."

"And the disguises?"

"Latex and makeup. And padded bras. And a lot of voice flexibility exercises." He ticked the list off on his fingers as he spoke, mouth curved wrly.

Shadow cast his memory back to the slurry of old heist tapes he'd watched after he'd first heard of Kaitou Kid upon arriving in Japan, the stories he'd heard passed by word of mouth. "The walking on air? The teleportation? The…"

"Parlor tricks." Kid cut him off, holding up his hands and opening his fists to release a rain of confetti and a single, pure white dove (which flapped up to perch docilely on his shoulder, cooing) to support his words. "Dad was a magician, and he taught me. There's nothing more to it than that, really." He promised Shadow earnestly.

It was Shadow's turn to shake his head. He knew gods, and he knew worship, and this… "No, I—"

Kid didn't give him a chance to argue. "Look, I'm sorry that I'm not what you were expecting. I do that to a lot of people, it seems. But I've gotta get home, I promised mom we'd eat dinner together tonight. Thank you for… for trying to save me, or whatever it was you meant to do, but I don't need you to and I'd kind of appreciate if you stopped poking your nose into things around here. You might wind up attracting the exact wrong sort of attention, you know? I'm sorry." He bowed once, bowed again, nervously, and faded back into the shadows, clearly spooked by the whole encounter.

He wasn't the only one. Shadow may have prided himself on knowing more about gods than the average man, but even he had never heard of something like this happening before, of godliness being thrust upon a human child. Because in the terms of a new generation's religions, Kaitou Kid _was_ a god. He had his followers and his apostles, and he had his adversary; and, child or not, there was a power in Kid's very presence that could only be born from worship and prayer, an extremity to his various listed abilities that mere talent couldn't hope to absolve.

Kid was a kid, though, and he didn't want to know. And Shadow couldn't exactly begrudge him that. His unique origins would help ease his inevitable fall from glory, and his inimitable evolution would hopefully prevent that fall from being a very literal thing.

After all, no one threw themselves off so many buildings without being absolutely certain that they could fly.


	24. Psych

**Series: **Psych

**Pairings: **Er… nothing.

**Warnings: **Kaitou Kid in Santa Barbara! And Lassiter being a grumpy pants! And no actual appearance of Shawn anywhere in this fic, how strange!

**A/N: **So, uh, hopefully this pleases, seeing as how Psych got a vote on the poll before I'd even had a chance to write for it. I made Lassiter a bit more… insightful, maybe? then he appears on the show, but he had to have gotten to head detective somehow, and if the police were actually better at their job then what on earth would Shawn do with his time once a week? Learn how to knit?

* * *

**No Honor Among Thieves**

* * *

When Lassiter first felt the eyes on him in the station he had expected to look up and find Shawn perched uninvited on the corner of his desk, disturbing case files and grinning at him like an idiot, ready to spout some inane babble about giant flying squirrels or the Last Samurai and attempt to pass it off as a viable investigation technique. What he didn't expect was a pair of wide, curious violet eyes attached to a face far too young (and far too foreign) to belong anywhere this deep in the station without an escort, regardless.

He wasn't sitting on Lassiter's desk, or even crowded all that much into his personal space though, which immediately put this boy somewhere above their resident psychic in terms of general and specific tolerability. The fact that he appeared to be staring at official police documents without permission, however, placed him unavoidably beneath Lassiter's ordinary level of tolerance.

Lassiter cleared his throat imperiously and shot the boy a look that clearly read as 'does your mother know what you're doing young man?' though Shawn always insisted it was more of a 'lock you up and throw away the key' look (_and I should know, _Shawn had protested when Lassiter drew his gun to retort, ducking behind Buzz for protection, _I've been getting that look from my dad since I was seventeen_), and which Juliet had corroborated. "Can I help you…?" He asked, shuffling a sheaf of papers for no other reason than to appear terribly busy and suppressing a small wince when all that he received was a paper cut for his trouble.

The boy smiled softly and shook his head. "No, but I can help you."

"What?" Lassiter snapped, a feeling of dread beginning to creep down his spine. This all felt… _familiar_ somehow.

"I'm Kaito." The boy said, holding out a hand that Lassiter took without thinking. He had a firm, even grip, and knew precisely how long to hold to make an impression but avoid coming off as strange or clingy. At Lassiter's blank faced response to his name he clarified. "Shawn's friend. He told me about your Kaitou Kid problem and brought me in as a consult for the case."

"Consult?" Lassiter echoed, lips thinning in displeasure. "Look, kid—"

"Kaito." He interrupted patiently, smiling amiably.

Lassiter's scowl deepened. "…Kaito, whatever. I don't know what sort of impression you got from Spencer – which, by the way, I would love to know what he thinks he's doing, hanging around impressionable, underage boys, _completely_ inappropriate, and he had better not be buying you alcohol or cigarettes – but we here at the Santa Barbara police station are not in the habit of asking for help in solving our cases from children."

A small half beat of silence passed, as if Kaito was making sure that Lassiter was done before he answered, ton measured and even, totally professional; clearly, he had past experience speaking with authority figures in similar situations. "The impression he gave, I believe, was that none of you had even heard of Kaitou Kid before he sent his first heist notice. And while it isn't any of your business why Shawn and I are friends, I can assure you that I don't drink or smoke, so whether or not he bought me anything would prove pretty superfluous. I would hope, however, that the Santa Barbara police were keener on catching the bad guy than they would be in proving their superiority over a _child_." He sneered a bit on the last word, making his distaste with the label fairly obvious. "I've done a lot of consulting for the police back home, which your chief had already called in to verify before she okayed me to assist on this case, and you don't have to like me detective, but I'd appreciate it if you didn't stonewall me either. I just want to help."

"Why?" Lassiter said accusingly. "What do you get out of this? We can't hire a minor, so you're not being paid. You do know that, right?"

Kaito smiled wryly, a small, embarrassed laugh escaping him. "No, I know. I guess… I'm kind of a fan of Kaitou Kid's. I've been to all of his heists. Which makes me a bit of an expert on him, I suppose." He admitted, blushing faintly.

Lassiter narrowed his eyes thoughtfully at Kaito's confession, trying to figure the boy out. "A fan?" He asked, inquired, interrogated, standing up and planting his hands flat on the desk to lean over towards the boy, looming over him in a blatant bid for power. "How can you possibly be a fan of a criminal? And one that mocks the police with these notices?"

"No one puts on a better show, detective." Kaito said sweetly, tilting his head back to look Lassiter in the eye, unruffled by the attempt to intimidate him with size and determination. "And he's not mocking you. He's giving you a chance. Ordinarily there would be no way to predict a theft in time to prevent it. And because he never keeps any of the things he steals, it's easier to prosecute if you catch him in the act. Plus," He added, eyes sparking with amusement. "He appreciates a good challenge. It's more… _fun_ for him, I guess, if they really give him a run for his money. Actually, you guys are the first to try and catch him outside of a heist itself. Back home, you catch him at the heist with your own two hands, or you don't catch him at all. It's a sorta – code of honor between them and Kaitou Kid, I guess."

"Code of honor?" Lassiter scoffed. "There is no honor among thieves."

"So they say, detective." Kaito hummed lightly to himself, stepping away from the desk, his eyes never leaving Lassiter's and that smile never leaving his lips. "It's a good thing that Kaitou Kid isn't a thief then, isn't it, detective?" He said.

Lassiter rolled his eyes. He'd heard enough of that argument of distinction from various so called experts to last him more than a lifetime, and he wasn't going to start that up again. To him, a thief was anyone that took something that didn't belong to them. It didn't matter if he eventually returned it, or even if he cleaned the whole damn house, walked the dogs and filled the fridge with groceries while he was at it, a thief was a thief. And he caught thieves; he would catch this one. "Why you?" Lassiter said after a moment, crossing his arms over his chest and regarding the boy seriously. "If you were just a fan Karen wouldn't have brought you in – all of the information you just gave me we could have gotten from the detectives back in Japan if we had wanted to. So why you?"

Kaito spread his arms wide, and a flock of doves appeared suddenly in the air before him, fluttering wildly to find a perch on his shoulders. He bowed low, and by the time he had righted himself the birds were gone again, magicked off to wherever they had come from in the first place. "Because I am a magician, detective, same as Kaitou Kid." He said, smiling widely, every inch that same self satisfied smirk that Shawn had every time he'd helped crack another case.

_Great_, Lassiter thought grimly, _just what I needed._


	25. Homeward Bounders

**Series: **Homeward Bounders

**Pairings: **Akako/Kaito if you'd like to see it, and, goodness, I don't think I was quite aware of how much I really am fond of that pairing until I started this crossover thing. Seriously, psychotic witch who dressed like a ho and behaves like some sort of S & M queen or not, she is absolutely adorable sometimes when it comes to Kaito.

**Warnings: **There may be slight OOCness on Jamie's part, I don't know, as it's been many many years since I read the book and cannot seem to find it available for sale anywhere. Which is, uh, part of the reason he doesn't _do_ much in this crossover, but the ease with which a plot point like Homeward Bounders lends itself to crossovers was too good to be ignored.

**A/N: **Set fairly early into Jamie's travels, before he met any of the other Homeward Bounders. And we are… just three away from completing this set now! Almost there! Also, hugs and kisses to anyone who gets the joke behind the title because, uh, I couldn't resist.

* * *

**Shadow of a Chance (and Don't be Sassy)**

* * *

In this new world, people could _fly._

It was night when Jamie arrived, a full moon and a city full of buildings towering high above his head, and a figure resplendent all in white was just swooping down from the sky in front of him, spiraling slowly as he lost height to finally alight – as casually as if he'd just stepped down from a particularly high stage or platform, rather than the stars – on the ground before Jamie, wings stretched out behind him like a bat's.

A careless shrug of his shoulders and they were gone, folded up or disappeared, Jamie didn't know, and while he'd almost certainly seen stranger in his travels, very little had been cause to arouse such… wonder.

The boy, because that was what the mysterious stranger was, when you took away the wings and the ominous clock of darkness and shadows (he wasn't one of _Them_, that much was obvious, none of _Them_ would have ever been caught dead in white, let alone so much of it, but there was exactly the same sort of secretive veil to his actions and appearance that suggested he would either get along quite well with _Them_ or not at all), just a boy; a little older than Jamie but small, and _lean – _like there was nothing left to spare for him – and completely innocuous in his slow approach, hands in his pockets and chin tucked close to his chest and smiling, oh so gently.

Smile burning as brightly as any constellation in the sky, he stopped a few feet from Jamie, regarding him thoughtfully with a single uncovered eye, brilliant and violet, and all too knowing in its assessment of him.

"You don't belong here, do you?" He said softly, that gentle curve to his lips never once leaving him.

Jamie started, stared, said, "How did you…" and then fell reservedly silent, wary of the sort of circumstances that would lead this boy, this stranger, to landing so close, so soon after Jamie's own arrival.

The best lessons for caution, after all, came from experience.

The boy had a circle of glass that shielded one eye, attached to a long bit of chord that draped down across his chest, attached to a small wooden charm decorated with a single, simple three leaf clover, and it drew Jamie's eye as he spoke, the way it would rise and fall with each breath and sway slightly as he cocked his head and wrinkled his nose at a particular turn of phrase.

"I have a friend." He said. "Well, not so much a friend as a… whatever she is, and while she has been known to wear a cloak on occasion you're actually far more likely to come across her wearing almost nothing at all. Even in the middle of a snow storm." He added wryly; clearly there was a story behind that.

Jamie shuffled from one foot to another uncertainly, biting his bottom lip and inclining his head for the boy to continue, unwilling, or unable to speak just yet.

The charm swung like a pendulum when the boy made a hesitant, abortive move, crossing and uncrossing his arms like he couldn't quite get comfortable in his own skin as he continued. "Regardless, you'd still be pretty hard pressed to find anyone in this city who knows more… at least concerning that sort of thing." He amended, waving his fingers strangely as if to demonstrate exactly what 'sort of thing' he meant; Jamie very sorely wanted to laugh at him. "She can still be pretty clueless about basic social cues and the like, but I think that's more a willful ignorance than any real shortcoming of her own."

A sudden, violent breath of wind swept over them, and the boy had to cling to the brim of his tall white hat to keep it from blowing away, cape flapping viciously at his back, and Jamie wrapped his arms firmly around himself nervously.

The boy squinted into the wind, baring his teeth in an almost playful expression. "If you don't like what I'm saying." He said patiently to thin air. "Then you can stop listening. Or come speak with him yourself, it's no skin off my back. But it _will _be skin off my nose if you don't stop this little temper tantrum."

It blew even harder for a second before tapering off entirely, leaving Jamie shivering uncertainly and the boy looking far too unruffled.

The boy smiled at him kindly. "We can help you get off this world and, hopefully closer to your own." He offered. "But after that you're on your own – we can't follow you or hold your hand, we have things that we need to get done here. And you have things that you must get done. Truthfully, you shouldn't even have come here in the first place. But we can fix it, if you'll let us."

Jamie hardly thought to hesitate – there was a softness to the boy's voice that made it almost impossible to refuse – he nodded.

Mission accomplished, Kaito flew back to Akako's home as the final moments of night seeped slowly into a gentle dawn, a rosy overcast on the tips of the wings of his hang glider, setting down in the front courtyard, even now hesitant to actually step foot into her home; she was waiting for him, already dressed for school, perched like a queen on the front steps.

Laughter bubbled up from deep in Kaito's chest at the sudden assaulting image of a knight of the realm returning from some great trial of strength or ingenuity, perhaps, to slay a dragon or rescue a princess.

Or a prince.

Akako observed him stoically, nose upturned slightly, but there was the softest hint of a smile to her lips as she said, "I'm proud of you. He told you what _They_ called people like him and you didn't even make any dog or cat jokes." She primly crossed her legs, tucking her hands neatly in her lap.

"I really, really wanted to though."

"But you refrained. Just as you refrained from telling him to _truth_, Kaito." She said, looking up at him from under her eyelashes, a demure expression if it had been anyone else doing it, but on Akako it looked almost menacing. "Why didn't you tell him that his home was already gone?"

Kaito sighed and sat himself down beside her, shedding the cape and hat and loosening his tie from around his neck, tilting his head back to watch the soft palate of colors wash over the ever lightening sky. "Everyone deserves some hope, Akako. He's lost so much already, it isn't time just yet for him to lose that as well, and you know it."

"I know a lot of things." Was the only thing Akako said.


	26. Small Gods

**Series: **Small Gods

**Pairings: **Mmm… no.

**Warnings: **Intense thirst? More theological stuff, but it's not nearly as prevalent as it was in American Gods. And, uh, Kaito talking to a tortoise. That talks back.

**A/N: **Weeks later and I am still blown away by this book. It is seriously my favorite Discworld installment of all time, which might have something to do with the amazing blend of humor and beauty inherent in this book. It's heavy on the theology theory, the need for rituals versus the true meaning of belief, how the gods need people just as much (if not more) as the people need gods… but in this theory is the absolutely gorgeous development of the relationship between Brutha and Om that culminates at the climax of the book with Om declaring boomingly that Brutha is _his_ and, oh gosh, there's even a fist fight among the gods that begins with a cornucopia to the head and that silly little newt god with 51 followers and his explanation to one of them about what war is… Just. Read it people. You are absolutely missing out until you do.

* * *

**Drawing in the Sand**

* * *

Om was drawing in the sand again.

"You… do not… belo… well, yes, I know I don't belong here, Mr. Tortoise, I would have thought that was quite obvious from the way I dress alone, but you don't have to be so blunt about it, you know, I'm a delicate youth, you could crush my feelings quite easily if you make me feel like I'm not welcome and – ah. Om. _Om_, sorry, but there's no call for that sort of language you know, Mr. Tortoise is a perfectly good name and, to be fair, you didn't exactly introduce yourself, did you?" The young boy that Om was writing for was crouched down in the sand next to him, pale skin and dark hair and eyes a very specific shade of the sky skating attentively over each painfully formed letter, remarkably patient and understanding, considering the circumstances.

That whole sticky business concerning belief, Om thought sourly, would have proven an awful lot _less_ sticky if the rest of Omnia had had even half the willingness to accept the unlikely as this stranger to his lands.

It was a pity, really. Because this boy wasn't a believer, Om couldn't speak to him; it was the first time in years that he had actually assumed this old, modest form. Curiously enough, the fact that he had appeared before the boy as a tortoise suggested that he was more likely to believe in a remarkably communicative quadruped than an omniscient, omnipotent god. Strange little human, Om thought to himself, and began to write in the sand again.

_How did you get here?_ Om wrote, ponderously slow.

The boy reached up to scratch the back of his neck which was, undoubtedly burned and peeling beneath the unforgiving desert sun. He made a small sound of discomfiture but answered Om as casually as if he were somewhere significantly cooler, perhaps being pampered. It would have been interesting to see how he fared with something like the iron turtle, if it wasn't such an abominable practice and hadn't been so recently converted into a bread oven.

"If I knew that," the boy mused, "then I would very likely have some idea of how to reverse the process, and we wouldn't be here for you to ask me the question in the first place. Although, taking into consideration your rather unique presence, there is a very strong chance that it had something to do with that tortoise shaped pendant I stole."

_Pendant?_ Om finally settled on, rather than what might have struck others as the rather more obvious point of censure, 'stole', but Om had a remarkably strong distaste for pendants that had existed for nearly as long as the item itself, with no clear distinction as to why, and a tortoise shaped one sounded like exactly the sort of ridiculous notion that scheming Dibbler might come up with to make a bit of profit off the prophet on the sly. Brutha might have given him that awful disappointed look of his that he did so well (like he wasn't the god he _thought_ he was, which was unfair, he thought, because Brutha had learned that fairly early on in their partnership anyway), but he wasn't here – was probably busy tending to those silly melons – and Om didn't have to play good Samaritan, putting aside the fact, of course, that this was precisely what he had done, stopping to speak with the boy at all.

The kid had a nice shape to him mind, besides, open to all sorts of things and _sharp_. Om genuinely liked smart people; there were so few of them anymore.

"Yeah." The boy sighed, settling down more comfortably in the sand and shielding a yawn with the back of his hand. "I think I'm swearing off jewelry entirely after all of this is done – first Pandora, then the demon possessed necklace and now this? More trouble then they're worth. Now." A sudden spark of mischief entered his eyes and he grinned. "Stealing all of Hakuba's underwear and transplanting it with the tantei-han's and vice-versa is still a viable option."

Om didn't even bother to write anything this time, just swept his tail from side to side in an impatient manner and stared at the young thief with his beady little tortoise eyes.

He wrinkled his nose in distaste as the epiphany seemed to dawn slowly across his face. "Except that would mean touching both of their underwear and that's not… just forget I even said it, would you?" He pleaded, even going so far as to clench his hands in front of him

_No problem_, Om wrote. _We all do or say things that we regret sometimes. It's part of being alive._ Except that Om wasn't, in the truest sense of the words, alive, was he? It was still difficult for him to remember sometimes, when he got to talking with Brutha, or when he'd just eaten a really good lettuce leaf. He'd spend so long crawling along the earth with the rest of them that he'd all but forgotten what it felt like to scorn them from above. It was impossible to tell still at this point whether or not that was a good thing. _I rode an eagle once._ He added contemplatively at the end.

"Did you really?" The boy said, eyes wide and lips twitching upward in amusement. "And you regretted that, did you?"

Om thought about it seriously before he answered. _Not as such, no, not _regretted, _exactly. It was necessary for the situation at hand. But it was a rather foolish maneuver, just the same. Absolutely terrifying._ There was a strange sort of singing in the kid's head as he wrote. A sensation that, when he stood stock still – just the faintest quivering in his tail – and focused entirely on it, felt almost exactly like flying.

"I'm sure the poor eagle was scarred for life." He remarked wryly, laughter trailing off into a pitiful coughing spell that had Om wondering fitfully how long it had been since the boy had had something to drink.

_I can assure you, it won't try eating anymore tortoises. _Om drew, in the most stoic manner that he could manage. Then he began to worry. _If this was a few years ago I could probably have done something for you myself. _He told the boy, already casting about in his mind to call Brutha here to help get him within the city, properly fed and watered and, hopefully, back on his way home (Brutha set down the hoe and obediently set out from the citadel Om's bidding, leaving his various attendees and personal guards to quietly throw a fit at their Cenobriarch's carelessness and run after him). _But reverence is never what it used to be and I'd be all the more likely to send you somewhere awful and awkward at this point so it's best if we don't attempt it at all. The Historians might have some idea what to do with you though._ He hurried to add, when the boy began to frown.

The next spate of coughs were weak and dry. Om snapped irritably at Brutha to hurry. "And how do I find the Historians?"

_I'll see what I can do_, Om wrote.


	27. Firefly

**Series: **Firefly

**Pairings: **Seriously? I don't even glance upon canon ones. River and Kaito dance with each other but it's Kaito. And River. So it doesn't count.

**Warnings: **No use of Firefly's Chinese curse words and the like because, uh, I definitely didn't have the time or energy to do research on _that_. I did remember the thing about 'sly' though.

**A/N: **SO sorry it's late, but work was kind of sort of crazy and, to be fair, my internet was acting kind of crazy, and… one more to go!

* * *

**The Meaning of Sly**

* * *

By the time anyone had noticed that River wasn't on the ship she was already trotting proudly back in through the open hatchway, a trio of good looking young men trailing behind her like a flock of ducklings following after their mama's tail. She pulled up in front of the crew, beaming up at Mal, all little girl softness and starlight that he didn't buy for a second.

"River…" Mal began laboriously, the creeping tendrils of a full blown migraine setting itself comfortably – or, rather, not – right between his eyes.

River pouted mutinously at his tone and tugged on the closest boy's hand, which was threaded with her own. When he stepped forward the other two followed close (nudging each other aside with their shoulders as they did so) and Mal started to reconsider which, between River and her new pretty toy, was the real mama duck.

You can't keep 'em, he wanted to say, or even just the ever popular, irrefutable (except that most days River just didn't _listen_ and nothing that should have been ever was anything more than a might be) no. But instead what came out of his mouth was, "Serenity ain't no place for pets." Which was true enough, except for when it wasn't.

Two viscious, snap-crackling hot stares settled on Mal then, and he was almost certain that he heard one of them growl, when the atmosphere was shattered by the third stranger's laugh, turning his head sideways to stifle the sound into River's hair. It was Simon's turn to start hissing and spitting then, and two sets of eyes – one brown and one blue – swiveled slightly to glare at their companion in Mal's stead and then, after catching each other at it, at one another. The boy laughed all the harder at that, gasping out something about a stud walk, him and River ducking simultaneously when both boys leapt to silence him, tangling with each other when they missed. Another spat of cold looks and heated words ensued as they extracted themselves to the stereo sound of River and the boy's breathless mirth.

"Besides." Zoe said wryly from her place, ever present at Mal's side. She was ever so subtly touching the handle of her gun under her coat. "They don't seem to be house trained. And stubborn ones are always hard to break."

A sound of protest from one that sounded very much like he was choking on something alive. The blonde took a rebellious step forward, puffing himself up just like Simon always did whenever he was trying to pretend as if he was terribly above all of this and merely humoring them all. "Ex_cuse_ me—"

"Hakuuuuuba." River's boy crooned in a scolding tone, violet eyes flashing in the blonde boy's direction and lips curving sharply upward like the edge of Jayne's second favorite knife. "Behave." With a single, silent snarl (lips curled back and teeth bared) the boy revealed as Hakuba retreated, head bowed and eyes smoldering. The blue eyed one snickered darkly at his companion's fall from grace until a sharp, frustrated "Kudo," had him silent and sullen as well.

"Well now." Mal said humorously, curiosity thoroughly piqued concerning their guests despite his and the crews very best interests. He had nearly begun to forget what fun children – _real_ children, the ones who hadn't had their heads cut open and been twisted up so much inside that they could hardly even be recognized as such – could be, River and her endless drifting, dancing manner aside. And while there was undeniably something strange about the way those two sniffed after the third ("Sly." Jayne hissed under his breath, but that wasn't quite it either; more like how an animal might nose a hunk of meat than it would a potential mate) _that_ one seemed to have the matter more than well in hand."That all depends on just who's givin' the orders, Zoe." The violet eyed one almost preened at this, and Kudo and Hakuba bristled but said nothing, entirely proving Mal's point. "They look like bright enough lads anyway, give them a nudge and they'll fall into line quick."

Zoe gave him a sharp look. "You don't mean you're thinking of…?"

Mal shrugged rather helplessly in response. "River seems awful taken with them." He pointed out. "And if she went through all of the trouble to fetch them like this then they might turn out to be _important_ as well." Everyone shifted uneasily at the inference left unspoken in his words, looking around at anything and nothing at all. "Besides. If River's got a new toy she might leave Kaylee alone long enough to get this ship runnin' right." Mal added lightly in an attempt to distract them all from dwelling too hard in all the ways it was exactly that River was different from the rest of them.

River nodded sagely, taking up her boy's other hand and spinning them into what eventually shifted into an old time waltz, each keeping time with the other perfectly. A pleased, girlish laugh bubbled from River's mouth as he spun her, and the other two just rolled their eyes at the show (which seemed to suggest that their friend made a habit of dancing to no music, and it was clear that he and River were going to get along with each other like a house on fire). "She's been trapped in there so long. All alone, fluttering in vain against the lid of the box like a caged butterfly. With only dreams of flight to comfort her, but it's time now captain!" River declared joyously, the cadence of her speech rising and falling with each step of the dance.

"And what a beautiful flight it will be." The boy confirmed, dipping her gently and smiling up at Mal and the others. "Name's Kaito, captain." He said. "I'm looking for something, and River here seemed to suggest that I might be able to find it if I cast in with you and yours; and it seems to me like a ship called Serenity has a pretty good chance of stumbling upon hope, somewhere along the line."

Mal regarded him stoically for a moment before cracking the tiniest of grins. "If you can understand even half of what she says you'll have already earned your way on this ship, but I get the feeling, smart boy like you, there's quite a few more skills hidden underneath."

"That would be telling, now wouldn't it?" Kaito matched Mal for his grin easily.

"Sorry." Jayne said, interrupting their friendly standoff and pointing first at Kaito and then at the one called Kudo, brow furrowed. "But it's been bothering me. "Are you two twins or something?" Everyone looked between the two boys then, curiously, and began to make various noises of assent at the observation.

Kudo and Kaito looked at one another silently for a moment and then, simultaneously, turned to look at Jayne, saying, "We're not related." In a dull sort of monotone that bespake of tired familiarity.

"Poor boys." River crooned, and patted Kaito's hair like she was petting a dog. Kaito closed his eyes and leaned into the gesture, smiling slightly. Hakuba hissed his displeasure and buried his head in his hands, Kudo elbowing him sharply in the side.

"Sly." Jayne muttered again, but no one was listening to him anymore.


	28. Buffy the Vampire Slayer

**Series: **Buffy the Vampire Slayer

**Pairings: **Another Hakuba/Kaito if you want to see it that way. I have noticed recently that, unless I specifically set out to write smoochies, most of my pairings in fic are of this sort. I dunno, I just seem to enjoy the undertones of things, like Hakuba and Kaito moving in synch with one another, or a simple touch to the shoulder. I'm not sure if this habit frustrates or pleases more people.

**Warnings: **… hurt!Kaito?

**A/N: **Set after the series finale of Buffy, when Giles took over control of the council. Yet another, 'Kaito found Pandora' ficcie for me, but I am awfully fond of writing those because, uh, unless Gosho gets back to writing MK there is a very high likelihood that poor Kaito will never find Pandora, and I certainly think he's been through enough by this point to have earned it, don't you? And now, the month is over, as is this project; the poll for which story to continue will be up for one more week before I announce the results, so don't forget to vote!

* * *

**An Old Friend**

* * *

"Saguru." Giles said in surprise to the boy standing impatiently in his doorway, arms crossover over his chest and toe tapping an angry staccato on the floor; he was turned away from Giles, eyes roving the street and sidewalk outside endlessly, clearly on edge. "What on earth are you doing here?" He asked, and attempted to reconcile this tightly wound young man with the solemn faced, well mannered child he'd met so many years before, when he'd stood before the council and stated quite firmly that he was going to become a world famous detective someday and had no intention of becoming a Watcher because he thought that vampires and demons were 'silly'.

Hakuba darted a look his way, appeared to summarily dismiss him, and returned to scanning the surroundings. Giles was just beginning to muster up some level of offense at the slight when he spoke. "I'm terribly sorry to trouble you, Giles, but I was at a bit of a loss as to where else to go. We need help."

Giles bit back a small sigh. No one ever came by to see him for just a cuppa and a chat anymore it seemed. Not that Hakuba had ever really been the sort before running off to Japan to finish his studies and follow mulishly in his father's footsteps (whether the man wished for him to or not). Nor his mother for that matter, who couldn't be pulled away from her research for anything less than an apocalypse on a good day and, one a bad, only for a particularly big one.

"We?" Giles echoed faintly, rousing himself roughly from his thoughts as his mind finally found it pertinent to point out the improper use of a plural pronoun in Hakuba's statement. Except that, Hakuba was nothing if not grammar perfect, always chose his words with the sort of knife's edge precision that would have proven indispensible in translating prophesies for the council, which meant that his use of the word 'we' had been entirely purposeful, _which meant_ that Hakuba was not alone.

With a little huff of impatience, Hakuba leaned forward to wrench the front door from Giles' hand, forcing it the rest of the way open to reveal a young Japanese boy standing beside him, dark hair a deplorable mess and curiously violet colored eyes watching him warily (with the scatter shot fear of a gun shy wild animal, ready to bolt at the tiniest prompting), right arm done up in a sling against his chest and one whole side of his face a red angry mess, as if he'd been drug across the asphalt on his cheek for a mile or so. He grinned weakly when he noticed Giles' eyes on him, shifting closer to Hakuba and stilling when the larger boy set a comforting hand on his shoulder. "We." Hakuba agreed firmly. "Kaito and I."

A car door slammed further down the street and both boys jumped and spun to confront the noise, bodies quivering with barely suppressed tension; they mirrored each other almost perfectly, down to the hunch of their shoulders and the slightly perplexed look in their eyes, and as Giles sighed once more and beckoned the pair of them in he had to wonder a bit at just what it was the boy had gotten himself involved in over in Japan. And what the boy named Kaito had to do with it all.

He waited until they'd both settled themselves on the sofa, offering them both a cup of tea to give them the time it took to boil the water to gather themselves together, a gesture he was almost certain the ever image conscience Hakuba would appreciate. Hakuba's quiet refusal, as a result, was more than a little unsettling. "We haven't the time, I'm afraid." He began, even as the other boy protested quietly at his shoulder.

"Oh dear." Giles said, pulling his glasses down to give the lenses a quick polish before replacing them. "Not another apocalypse already. Not so soon."

Hakuba hesitated to answer. Kaito made a small, confused noise in the back of his throat. "… nothing quite so dramatic as all that, Giles, but considering what happened the last time we stopped to brew a pot of tea you'll understand perhaps why I hesitate to try again." He said, darting a pointed look at Kaito's various injuries that's meaning could not possibly be misconstrued.

Kaito hunched slightly in his seat under Giles' sudden appraisal, scowling. Giles made acceptably sympathetic noises for the boy, having been there himself more than once. "Demon?" He asked.

His response was a thin little smile that never reached the poor boy's eyes. "Human."

It was rather fortunate that Hakuba had turned down the tea then, because if Giles had been holding a cup at that point he very likely would have dropped it at the bland delivery of that answer. He turned to Hakuba, protesting. "That is an entirely different matter Saguru, and one you should know better than to expect me to be able to help you with." He scolded the boy. "Your father would be a far better choice to—"

"My father is an idiot." Hakuba interrupted frostily. "And I am not some helpless child that would come running to the nearest adult to tattle on a schoolyard bully. I—" His eyes drifted to the side to rest on his companion's bowed head; his expression softened ever so slightly. "_We_ will take care of that. What we need form you is of an entirely different nature. Kuroba."

At the prompting, Kaito's unbound hand disappeared into the front pocket of his jeans, emerging a moment later with a small blood red stone clenched tightly between his fingers. "Pandora." He said softly, voice barely above a whisper. "Under the light of a comet's tail that only appears over the earth every ten thousand years it is said to weep tears of immortality. I spent three years searching for it, and my father ten years before that. And now that I have found it, I can't figure out how to destroy the damn thing." He finished bitterly, and held it out for Giles to see.

Cautiously, Giles took it from him, holding it up to the light to examine it more closely. Good lord, _Pandora_. Most experts couldn't even agree over whether or not it was even real, and here it was in the palm of his hand. "And you want me to…?" He said in a daze.

"Tell me how to destroy it."

"_Destroy_ it?" Giles protested. "This is perhaps the biggest find of the millennium – you spent years of your life searching for it – and you want to just be rid of it? I know people who would give anything to get their hands on it!"

Kaito's eyes were flat and hard as granite as he answered. "So do I. They killed my dad for it."

Hakuba stood swiftly from the sofa, positioning himself in front of Kaito and sufficiently deterring any further heated exchange between the two of them. "We didn't come to argue over the stone's merits. Kuroba found it, therefore it is his to decide what to do with it. But due to some… difficulties on our part we are willing to make a deal with you." Giles inclined his head to show that he was listening, Hakuba continued. "Help us figure out how to destroy it and the council may have a sliver of the shattered pieces to do with as they please." He paused for a breath, just long enough for Giles to understand what was being offered. "Do we have a deal?"

Giles didn't even have to think about his answer.


End file.
